The Story of Boston Bound
by Tipper
Summary: As winter storms blanket Four Corners, a stagecoach arrives bringing a figure from Nathan’s past…and one from Ezra’s. This is part romance, part murder mystery, and a whole lot of beautiful snow.
1. Part One

Title: The Story of Boston Bound, part 1 of 4

Author: Tipper

Disclaimer: I don't own the Magnificent Seven, and never will, unless by some twist of fate I win the lottery, then invest it in some junk binds that skyrocket, become as rich as Oprah, then go and buy myself a piece of MGM. Man, how I'd love that.

Notes: I was a history major, and I did research quite a bit for this, so, though my medical skills may be non-existent, the history is right. If you're wondering where this came from, I was inspired by Manhunt, when Nathan stands up and tells the crowd in this very Poirot like manner: "It'd be impossible for him to strangle Clay-ah, and leave the marks I saw on both sides of her neck." He was just so darn cute when he said that. Made me want to try my hand and imitating an Agatha Christie style mystery, with Nathan (and, of course, Ezra – what can I say, I love that guy) at the center. Carl and Sarah Weathers, by the way, were introduced in Adverse Possession and occasionally pop up in my other stories. The riverboats were mentioned in Three of a Kind. 

Description: As winter storms blanket Four Corners, a stagecoach arrives bringing a figure from Nathan's past…and one from Ezra's. This is part romance, part murder mystery, and a whole lot of beautiful snow. 

The Story of Boston Bound

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Part One

Serenity fell from the sky, drifting down in the form of delicate, mathematically perfect, flurries. Slowly, as if afraid to disturb the peace that arrived with the soft weather, Nathan opened the door of the clinic and slipped out onto the balcony. He raised his face to feel the cool moisture alight upon his hot skin, his eyes shut sleepily against the calm. There was no breeze today to disturb the snow's harmonious descent, making the air seem almost warm in comparison to the frigid winds that had battered the town the week before.

Opening his large brown eyes, Nathan pulled his heavy greatcoat tighter and leaned forward over the balcony banister to look down upon the town below, feeling like a king surveying his domain. The snow had the effect of muffling all the normal sounds, and even the children laughing where they played in the alley between Mrs. Potter's store and Mr. Greene's apothecary shop sounded somehow distant. From the looks of it, a fairly impressive snowball fight was going on between the Potter children, the Greene's two boys, Billy Travis and several others. Almost fifteen children were involved in all, and the number caused Nathan to raise an eyebrow. When had so many children moved in? He hadn't even noticed, though it was a sure sign that this town was being tamed. 

Loud laughter broke his reverie, and Nathan switched his gaze to the saloon. He immediately reset his number of children to add three more, as he watched Buck pelt JD with a large snowball. Ezra stood in the background, his thick wool plum jacket wrapped tightly around him, laughing with abandon. JD gained his footing quickly and gathered a new snowball, which he threw at the ladies man. Too quick, Buck ducked, and the projectile smacked Ezra on the head, knocking off his black riverboat hat. In less time than it takes Chris to draw his gun, Ezra was wrestling JD into a snowdrift, and Buck had gathered enough snow in his hands to cover them both. 

After a few moments, the three men were back on their feet, still playing, but now moving across the street to join the children in the alley. Nathan rolled his eyes, knowing that a war was soon to be begun in that alleyway that would put all others to shame. But he was grinning all the same.

As the players disappeared, Nathan turned his thoughts to the others, noticing that Chris and Vin were sitting outside the jail looking for all the world like it was the middle of summer. Neither seemed affected by the cold weather, which had most people inside enjoying the warmth of their cook fires. The two men simply sat in quiet contemplation, much like he himself. 

The snow really was beautiful. 

He remembered quietly the first time he'd seen snow – it was the first time he really felt he had made it to freedom. It never snowed on the plantation where he grew up, nor did it ever really get cold. Most of the year, he only knew the hot, baking sun which made all the sounds around him crackle louder and harsher than fireworks on the fourth of July. Then there were the rains, bucketing out of the sky in downpours strong enough to carry houses away. The thunder and lightning, while sometimes a relief after weeks of sun, were also frightening in their severity. It was during one such storm that he'd been whipped the first time, for dropping the coal bucket up at the house. He'd only been six at the time. The noise of the storm in his head had grown to a roar under the punishment, and he wondered if he would ever know silence again.

After he'd made it North on the railroad, his only thoughts were to join the war effort. Walking in a northern city for the first time, he'd been looking for the recruitment office in Trenton, New Jersey when it started to snow. He'd stopped in the middle of the street in wonder, unable to comprehend the stillness that had arrived with the first snowfall of the season. It meant he was really there, in the North, where the seasons changed and the weather was as predictable as a roulette wheel. He was free. After a moment, he jerked himself awake, cursing himself for being so foolish as to stop where he might get in trouble. Then he realized he wasn't the only one.

The first snowfall of the season was magic, and it had everyone in its thrall. He remembered his awe at seeing how all those people, regardless of color, had seemed to stop what they were doing to gaze upward, small smiles on their faces, enjoying the stillness, just as he had. As he continued his journey, he walked with a lighter step. 

Course, he also distinctly remembered falling flat on his ass after about three steps when he slipped on the stuff. 

Now, standing on the balcony, Nathan unconsciously rubbed his rear, his smile fading to a more crooked one. This was not the first snowfall in Four Corners this season, though it was easily the thickest. It was late January, and it had snowed several times this month already. But this snow was fast accumulating, and was sticky, which, of course, leant itself to the first real chance for a good snowball fight.

Nathan stood up from off the banister, and licked his lips. He was about to go and join the "children" when the telltale sounds of a stagecoach arriving made him pause. Again leaning casually against the railing, he watched as the six passenger coach approached the hotel, trundling along slowly, laden with packages and mail. Nothing moved quickly in the snow, and this fat coach was no exception. 

It came to a lazy stop, the horses shaking snow from their manes as they waited for the hotel's bellboy to break the ice on the water trough and unhitch them for the night. The hotel manager and another bellhop opened the door to the coach and reached inside for the passengers. 

The first hand out was a lady's gloved hand, followed quickly by the rustle of many petticoats, and finally the small hat above a mass of light brown curls. She seemed a nice looking woman, with an easy smile and shrug for the manager. She glanced casually around the town, taking it all in with the air of someone not planning to stay here very long.

Her husband, or someone very much like it, alit from the coach directly after her. The man was large, perhaps almost as tall as Buck, with broad shoulders and a plain face. Both had a plumpness about them of people who have never had to go without food, and the kindness of manner that indicated that they were probably not from the city. Casually, they slipped inside in the hotel, following the bellhop.

The manager reached in for the next hand, and was rewarded by yet another woman's glove. The same procedure was followed, of glove, petticoats, then hat, as a black woman stepped off the stage. She was perhaps Josiah's age, or older, and wearing mostly black to keep herself warm. However, her clothes were no less nice than any others he'd seen, so he assumed she was not a servant. She had a stern looking face, lined with sadness, but with bright eyes and soft looking skin. Like the woman before, she drew her thick shawl tighter around her and looked curiously about the town as her husband joined her.

In contrast to the previous gentleman, this man was slight in build and had a hunched back, making him seem shorter than he probably was. He laid a hand on his wife's arm, and spoke quietly to the hotel manager as the bags were passed down to the bell boy who'd broken the ice for the horses. Then they, too, wandered into the warmth.

The manager turned back to the coach, to reach inside for the last two passengers, but his hand was rudely shoved away. A large brute of a man, darker in skin than any Nathan had seen in a long time, disgorged himself from the wooden frame, stretching to release the tension from the slow, uncomfortable ride. From his perch, Nathan squinted to see his face better, but the man turned away before he could get a good look. Reaching inside, the heavy set man gave his hand to the final passenger.

Once more, a ladies glove was visible on a slight hand, but no rustle of petticoats followed it, nor ladies hat. The woman who emerged was dressed simply in a light colored calfskin coat above a brown dress, her hat a dark brown felt beret. Upon seeing it, the healer's heart skipped a beat, recognizing both the style and the jaunty angle. But it was not until the young woman turned her head upwards to do as Nathan had done earlier, to catch the light snowflakes on her face, that he was sure. Throwing all decorum to the wind, he yelled down the street as loud as he could,

"BOSTON!"

The girl jerked, and spun to face his direction. When she saw him waving his arms wildly, her face broke into a grin.

"NATHAN!" She yelled back. 

Almost jumping up and down in his excitement, Nathan turned and ran down the slick steps, nearly tripping over his feet on the way down. She met him in the street, snow falling around them like confetti at a ticker tape parade, and then she was in his arms.

The whole town watched as the healer spun this girl around like a feather, while her companion (husband?) watched moodily from near the stage. The hotel manager spoke in the huge man's ear, and handed him what was undoubtedly the key. With a nod, the black man thanked him, then walked over to join the two old friends in the street. 

Across the way, Ezra, Buck and JD had stopped playing with the children immediately upon hearing the shout. Buck watched entranced as the usually reserved healer ran through the snow to catch a girl in his arms, impressed at the purity of the emotions on his face. JD stared curiously at the girl who, from what he could tell, was named after his home town. He noted that, though most of her clothes seemed nondescript, she wore a bright red ribbon around her neck, and a gold locket glinted from the hollow in her throat. He also noticed that she was awful pretty.

Ezra saw the black man waiting at the coach, frowned and faded into the shadows of the alleyway. In moments, he was gone. Not even the children saw him leave.

By the time Buck and JD reached Nathan and the girl, her companion was there as well, his eyes dark beneath the brim of his long black hat. Nathan put her down, his smile fading slightly as he saw her drift back to the other man's side. 

"Hey Nathan," Buck smiled, "who're your friends?"

"Did I hear him call you Boston?" JD said, almost simultaneously. The girl glanced at the kid, then at the gunslinger, her smile instantly becoming guarded. Her man stepped forward slightly, to put some of his bulk between her and the two white men. If either noticed, they didn't say anything.

Nathan, however, knew the signs instantly, having lived with them his whole life. Peacemaker, he offered them his most open smile, and took up position between them.

"You sure did, JD. Buck Wilmington, JD Dunne, may I introduce a very good friend of mine…whom I haven't seen in many a year girl!" he admonished her, earning him a blush. "Anyway, she's the girl who saved my life, boys. This here is Boston Bound."

"Actually, I just go by BB now, Nathan," she said shyly, "BB Weller. This here is my husband Charlie Weller. Charlie, this here's Nathan Jackson. I was one of his conductors on the railroad when I worked the east side." She said this to her husband, though she glanced askance at the two white men to gauge their reaction to the knowledge that she was a runner. When they only seemed to smile even more broadly, she relaxed a little. Meanwhile, Nathan had stuck his hand out at the introduction, but Weller only looked at it. 

"Charlie!" BB chastised, elbowing him. With a small snort, the large man took Nathan's hand and shook it slowly. 

"You're name is Boston Bound? That's sure different," JD smiled. BB didn't answer, simply looked at Nathan. When he nodded encouragingly, she smiled back and looked JD in the eye for the first time.

"Well, that's cause I used to always tell everyone that was where I was going. The name I was born with…I'm not sure I even remember now. My momma got me away from Virginia when I was still only little, but we never stayed in one place for long, and my name changed every time we moved. When I was old enough to make my own name, I told everyone I was Boston Bound. That became my free name," she finished. 

"And it suits you right fine, Mrs. Weller," Buck smiled, tipping his snow covered hat. BB blushed again, and clasped a little tighter onto her husband's hand.

"Did you make it there? I'm from back that way myself, see." JD's voice fairly bubbled with the thought of talking to someone from home, but BB just shook her head.

"No, I kinda…got sidetracked," she bit her lip. "Found I didn't need to go there any more," she nudged her husband. The large black man grunted, but he seemed to only have eyes for Nathan. The healer shifted slightly under the scrutiny. Buck felt the awkwardness before it could occur, and deftly took hold of JD's arm.

"Well, it was sure nice to meet you folks. I think you'll find this is a real nice town, especially now with all the snow cheering people up." The ladies man bowed slightly, and JD stumbled back a bit as Buck pulled him closer. "Now let's let these old friends get reacquainted, kid. We'll see you later, eh Nathan?"

"Sure, Buck," the healer replied with a thankful nod.

"But…" JD stuttered, and Buck's fingers dug deeper in his arm. "Yeah, Nathan," the kid said, finally getting the hint. "We'll see you later." As they walked away, JD pulled off his hat and smacked Buck's hand with it to make him let go. The "Ow! Buck, leave off the arm, huh?" was not lost on anyone. BB allowed herself a light laugh, and Nathan shook his head.

"Well, Mr. Jackson, it was nice to meet you," Charlie said, speaking for the first time. His voice was deep, gravelly, and had an air of strength unknown in most. Only Josiah had that same sort of voice.

"Oh, but, I was hoping maybe we could have dinner or something. I haven't seen you in so long, BB, and I would love to get to know you better, Mr. Weller." Nathan betrayed that boyish face of his, and BB's expression opened itself up slightly. Charlie's eyes narrowed, but then he shrugged.

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt none. We are going to be on the first stage out tomorrow morning, though, so don't expect any more than that. You pay for your own dinner though."

"Oh Charlie, hush!" BB said. "We'd love to have dinner, Nathan. Where…." She looked about the town for the first time, looking to see if there might be a restaurant hidden among the varied structures.

"Oh, I'm afraid there's just the hotel and the saloon at present," Nathan said, "and, though Inez may be a good cook, I think the hotel would be more conducive to catching up."

Charlie couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the other man's use of "conducive," wondering where a black man could have picked up such a highbrow word. Still, he merely nodded. 

"Fine. Seven o'clock at the hotel. Now, we really must get some rest." He took his wife's hand where it rested on his arm, and practically wrenched her around to walk away from Nathan. The healer frowned, but it quickly vanished as BB glanced back to smile sweetly at him. 

Seven o'clock. He looked up at the snow, and felt happier than he had for a long time. Behind him, the children resumed their games. 

____________________________ 

"So who is she?" Josiah asked, leaning in the open doorway of the clinic, his face and clothes wet from the still falling snow. Nathan glanced up from the supplies he was cataloguing, then looked away to hide the blush.

"That bad, huh?" the preacher laughed, entering and shutting the door behind him. "Must have been someone special for you to drop everything to pick her up in the middle of the street. The whole town's buzzing about it."

Nathan's smile fell slightly, and he swallowed. "What are they saying?" he asked, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice as he replaced a set of new bandages into a drawer. 

Josiah raised an eyebrow, as he sat in the rocking chair near the window. "They're not saying anything bad, Nathan. The people here are fond of you, you know that. They don't judge you…least not the way people back east might judge." He trailed off, not comfortable with the subject. He knew he was lying, that there were still plenty of people who could only see one color and assumed all others were savages, but Nathan did not need to be reminded of that now. "But I didn't come here to talk about the town, Nate. I came to hear about it from you….So who is she?"

Nathan barely heard Josiah's words, glossing over them and shutting them away with all the other platitudes he'd been subjected to over the years. Instead, he refocused his attention on BB, and his bright smile was quickly back in full force.

"I met her in the cornstalks, Josiah. She was my conductor on the railroad. I think that she was supposed to leave me at the first way station, and let me find my way on my own, but, for some reason she stayed with me for over three months…." He licked his lips, remembering that autumn with a mixture of acrimony and exultation, and his eyes took on a faraway quality. 

"I ran when I was still very young, Josiah. I heard that there might be a war to split the north from the south, a war over slavery among other things, and I wanted to be apart of it. Someone I knew from the plantation told me of the railroad, and, after almost a year of trying to get in touch with them, I was given my pass. I was to run at night to a place in the farthest cornfield, where I would meet a girl. She'd get me North."

He sighed, remembering the light way she'd called his name after he'd been standing, shivering with fear, for almost a minute in the designated place. She had sounded like an angel, and for a strange moment he thought he had died without knowing it. Then she emerged into the light of the half moon, wearing a strange beret and a corn colored coat, much like the ones he saw her wearing today. She'd raised her head, and the gold locket had glinted from beneath the bright red ribbon on her neck. Her pride over her ownership of that bauble had been the signal for him, the promise that it was possible to own instead of being owned. 

"Boston met me, took my hand, and drew me far away. The whole time I was with her, I was sure the dogs would find me, that I would be dragged back before I had even made it one mile. But she took me in hand, and I followed. She didn't leave me, though I know she could have, probably should have since, every second she was with me, she ran the risk of being lynched or captured with me. Even when we crossed the border, when she nudged me and said that we were in the North, she stayed with me until I reached my destination of New Jersey. The brother of someone from the plantation lived there and was going to put me up, and Boston Bound decided it was her duty to see me the whole way."

"Why did she do that?" Josiah asked softly.

"I…I fell in love with her instantly upon seeing her, Josiah. I spent all our time together trying to make her fall in love with me too. I must have been doing something right, 'cause, even though she never came right out and said anything, she stayed with me, like I said." He smiled, his face lighting up again as he recalled the way she had rebuffed him, always with a twinkle in her eye. But, as he said, she'd stayed with him. 

"When we got to Trenton, she kissed me. I knew for sure then that I had succeeded, but she was dedicated to the railroad, and I was going to go to war. She made me promise to come to Boston after it was over, to find her. She would be with her sister there…it was where she wanted to go more than anywhere else in the world." He shook his head, and sighed.

"Like many, the war…and what happened after…changed me Josiah. I didn't want to be anywhere in the east anymore. But I did try to find her, just as I tried to find my own family. I used to write her letters care of her sister during and after the war, but I have no idea if she ever received them. I came out here as soon as the war was over, as you know, though I did make a detour to that cold city whose name she borrowed. She never made it to her sister's, though I looked. So I left."

"Now she is here."

"Yes," Nathan's dreamy gaze became solid again as he looked at Josiah. "She's here, with a new last name and a husband. BB Weller. It's a nice name, though I will miss the old one. But if BB is who she is now, then it is BB with whom I will try and spend as much time with as possible before she leaves me again."

"Sounds like a plan." Josiah grinned.

Nathan grinned back, and waggled his eyebrows mischievously. The preacher laughed.

________________________________

Nathan jogged across the street to the saloon, trying to ignore the slight shake of nervousness that had invaded his heart. It was still an hour before dinner, but, after staring at all his clothes, he'd come to the conclusion that nothing he had was suitable. Mrs. Potter had tried, but nothing she owned was big enough for him. Which only left Buck – and the suit Ezra had given him last year.

Calming himself, he pushed into the hot saloon, the heat from the fireplaces and chandeliers drying his wet hair instantly. Looking around, he saw Buck sitting with JD and Ezra, chatting animatedly about something. The kid was laughing at whatever Buck was saying, but Ezra seemed to be paying little attention, his eyes staring blankly at the amber liquid in the glass in front of him. Steeling himself for what he foresaw would be a great deal of teasing at his expense, Nathan strode over to the table and stood, waiting for them to notice him. It didn't take long.

"Nate! Hey, we thought you had a date," Buck kidded.

"You gonna tell us who she is now?" JD asked eagerly.

Ezra remained silent, his face losing all expression. Nathan frowned, recognizing the poker face, but chose to ignore it. He could care less what that Southern snob thought.

"Not yet, JD, maybe later. Right now, I need a favor Buck."

"Sure, anything."

"Can I borrow that suit Ezra gave you?"

"Sure! Heaven knows I never get a chance to wear it. But don't you think it might be a bit flashy, especially since a certain Mr. Weller will be there too."

"Well, I don't have to wear the whole thing. Maybe just the pants and jacket – they're dark brown, right?"

"Yep, but you'll need…." Buck was cut off by the loud snap of a deck of cards being shuffled into one hand.

"I have a plain white shirt you can borrow, Mr. Jackson. No ruffles and a grandfather collar that is loose on me. If you don't wear a tie, I believe you'll achieve the appearance you desire." Ezra said this slowly, his eyes on his hands, where he was spinning the two of diamonds about the deck. 

"Well, there you go!" Buck laughed. "I'll got get the suit. You go back to the clinic, Nate. Me and Ez will be by in a couple of minutes, and don't worry," he tapped his nose for secrecy, "we'll make sure no one knows what we're doing." He jumped out of his seat, and Ezra followed by standing in a more genteel manner. The gambler nodded to Nathan, his face still expressionless, then turned to go upstairs, just as Buck disappeared outside to go to the boarding house. This left JD and Nathan in the bar, and the kid was smiling stupidly at the healer.

"All I got to offer you is my hat, but I think you'd reject it," the kid grinned, shrugging. Nathan couldn't help but laugh, and knocked the bowler off of JD's head for good measure before heading back out. 

As he walked back to the clinic, his feet slowed slightly. Ezra's expression, or rather, lack of, was really annoying him. He resolved to go and confront the gambler about it later.

_____________________________ 

Nervous. Without question. Knots in his stomach, tingles in his legs, sweat on his palms. For the hundredth time, Nathan pulled at the collar of the shirt Ezra had let him borrow, amazed that it fit so perfectly. Didn't mean that it wasn't annoying the hell out of him. He looked up at the great oak doors of the hotel, and the light shining through, and set his shoulders. Here we go.

He pushed inside, and shook off some of the falling snow from his hair. The snowfall had turned into a right blizzard outside, and it was soon going to incapacitate the town if it didn't stop soon. A small smile tugged at the corners of the healer's mouth as he realized what that meant. 

There was no way that huge great coach would be able to get out of here tomorrow morning. He'd be able to see her for at least one more day.

With a nod to the hotel manager behind the desk, he turned right into the large dining room…and stopped. A large table had been set up in the middle of the room, and all three of the couples from the stage were sitting around it, including BB and her husband.

So much for a quiet dinner.

BB stood, a bright smile on her face, and moved forward to take his hand. "I hope you don't mind Nathan, but Charles invited our traveling companions to join us. You see, we are all moving together to our new home, and have been eating together since we began this journey in Illinois. It seemed odd to stop now, especially since we've become such good friends. Besides, I want them to meet you." She gestured to the table, where five people stood, waiting for him to join them. Trying to hide his disappointment, Nathan put on his best smile and stepped forward to greet them.

"Nathan Jackson, may I introduce Wallace and Lacey Milton," The black couple leaned forward, and Wallace took his hand warmly. Upon closer examination, Nathan realized that Wallace appeared much older than upon first glance, probably as much as ten years older than Josiah, and his wife, a stout woman still dressed in all black, was of equal age, the silver cords in her otherwise black hair standing out starkly. She smiled lightly at him, and lowered her eyes when he took her hand. 

"And John and Annabel Street," BB continued, pointing to the white couple. Both had open and ready smiles, and John's grip when he took Nathan's hand was fierce. They looked to be in their late thirties or early forties, but the air of greenhorns still clung to them, as it had to JD when he first arrived.

"Good to meet you, Mr. Jackson," John said, sitting down. The whole table followed suit. "We've heard nothing but good things about you from BB here. We have also heard tell from the esteemed hotel manager that you are part of the law here."

"Yes, it that true Nathan?" BB asked, her face bright. 

Nathan simply nodded shyly, his lips curving slightly.

"I never thought I'd see the day…" she continued, the admiration clear in her voice. "The folks here actually accept you that way, to act as the law?"

"Well, most of them," Nathan was blushing now, and kept his gaze averted. "But I ain't alone. There are six others, two of whom you met earlier."

"The white men, the boy and the tall one," Charlie said, nodding, not hiding his distrust. "I take it, of those six men, you're the only one of color."

"Sort of," Nathan's eyes narrowed, as he considered Josiah's slight Hispanic roots, and Vin's relationship with the Indians. "The only black man, in any case."

"Humph. So what is it you do that makes them need you in their group."

"Well, first of all, its not their group. Its _our_ group. And, as to what I bring to it…"

"He's practically a doctor. Least that's what they tell me," BB smiled, and reached a hand over to touch his. He smiled at her. Both were oblivious to the dark look Charlie gave them.

"Not certified, though. They wouldn't allow that, now, would they," Charlie stated fiercely. BB took her hand away, and placed it on her lap.

Nathan looked over at him, bringing his own hands together. "No sir, they wouldn't. I learned to take care of folks in the war, where I was a stretcher bearer. They needed every hand they could get, and the doctors there taught me what they could so as I could help. When I came out here, I happened to be on hand when one of the locals got shot. I took care of him well enough, and the next thing I knew, I was sort of the town's healer. So, no, I ain't no doctor."

"I noticed that didn't stop the bellhop calling you 'the doc,' when I asked him about you, though," BB smiled. "I'm real proud of you Nathan."

Nathan blushed even more deeply, and decided it was definitely time to change the subject. "Well, I didn't come here to talk about me, BB. I'm more interested in hearing about you folks. You know, where you're going, how you got here, and so on."

As one, the faces at the table turned to Charlie, who had obviously taken the role of the leader. The big man smirked, the first expression other than the general frown that he'd worn since arriving.

"We're going to Arizona, Mr. Jackson. We put in together to buy fifty acres of land, and there is three hundred head of cattle waiting for us when we get there."

"Fifty acres, wow! You folks must have paid a pretty penny for that."

"All our savings, Dr. Jackson," Annabel Street supplied, her thin white hands bunching the napkin on the table in front of her. "But we were real careful to make sure the deeds were real and that its not in the middle of Indian country. The six of us are going to work the land together."

"That's an impressive investment. You folks know a lot about ranching?"

"I was on a ranch in east Texas before I went North," Charles said. "Wallace and Lacey were there too. After I made it North to Illinois, I made it my goal to someday own a ranch of my own." 

"Yes, we're relying on Mr. Weller and the Miltons to teach us," John Street agreed. "Annabel and I, we're completely green. We were just farmers outside of Springfield, Illinois before coming out here."

"Oh, more than farmers," BB said. "John and Annabel ran a way station for the railroad on the Mississippi. They took in loads of runaways, and found them jobs and places to stay. In fact, that's how I met Charlie." She looked at her husband, and tried to take his hand. He barely registered the affection, and her hand fell back to her lap. She returned her gaze to Nathan, who couldn't resist her dark, deep eyes.

"Charlie was one of the leaders of the railroad on the Mississippi. See, he escaped almost ten years before the war started, and quickly worked to get a pipeline going. He got Lacey and Wallace free, and they took up jobs at the Streets' farm. When Charlie…brought me there, they took me in too." She broke slightly on that last statement, and tried to cover it up with another big smile. 

"We were just doing what was best for our country and its people," John said proudly. 

"Until the Klan razed our home," Annabel whispered. She looked away, and Lacey took her hand where she was sitting next to her. Silence met this quiet statement, and Nathan licked his lips, remembering all to well the fear those white capes instilled. The end of the war had not been the end of the hatred, something the healer knew well. The face of his father flashed across his memory, and he sighed.

"Oh, but that's all in the past!" BB suddenly cried, breaking the mood. "We're here to talk of the future, isn't that right Charles." Her husband didn't answer. She ignored this, and reached to take Nathan's hand again. "Come, Nathan, why don't you tell us all a bit about what its like out here. So we have an idea of what to expect. This all our first time out here, as you must have guessed."

"Oh, um, well, where would you like me to start."

"Anywhere. Like, are all the towns like this one?"

"Hell no!" Nathan said emphatically. "No, no, we're definitely unique." He pursed his lips, trying to find the way to best explain his words. Luckily, he was interrupted at that moment by a clearing throat. He turned around to find himself looking at a rather uncomfortable looking bellhop.

"Mr. Jackson, I apologize for disturbing you, but I have a message for you from Mr. Standish." The boy held out a piece of paper.

"Ezra? What…oh, never mind," he took the paper, and placed a coin in the boy's hand that he had dug out from his pocket. With a nodded thank you, the boy flew away. Unfolding the paper, Nathan frowned at the words, then sighed.

"I'm sorry, but I have been called away for a moment. Please order, and I'll rejoin you as soon as I can." He stood, his face holding a rather irritated expression. "If you would be so kind as to tell the waiter that I'll have my usual. He'll know what I want." He attempted a grin, then bowed slightly before leaving the room. The three couples looked at each other, then, ever the conversation starter, Annabel started to talk about the weather.

Nathan wandered into the lobby, then across to the parlor, where Ezra was standing holding one of his handkerchiefs tightly over Josiah's left hand, the growing red stain obvious through the thin material. The preacher looked a bit green, but otherwise mostly just looked embarrassed.

"What did you do!" Nathan chastised, taking the older man's hand and lifting the fabric away. Josiah had a deep cut on his left forefinger, running from the base almost to the first knuckle in a diagonal pattern. It was bleeding profusely.

"Slipped on the church steps while holding a handsaw," Josiah replied sheepishly. 

"And how did you become involved?" Nathan demanded, shooting a look at the gambler. 

Ezra frowned, "Merely nearby, Mr. Jackson." 

Josiah shot him a look, surprised at the darkness of the response. Ezra, in fact, had been standing at the base of the steps, looking as if he was deciding whether to come in or not. He had been kicking clumps of snow from the stone steps, clearly oblivious to the damage he was doing to his high quality boots. Josiah had spotted him from the window, where he'd been using the saw to trim the new sills he's installed before sanding them down. He'd gone outside to encourage Ezra to enter when he'd slipped on all the accumulated snow. It hadn't even occurred to him to put the saw down first. A bit of hindsight he most certainly regretted now.

"Well, you're going to need stitches. Darn it, Josiah."

"It wasn't my idea to come get you!" The preacher insisted, "I'm truly sorry, Nathan, but Ezra made me come here. I mean, I could probably just get Vin to…"

"No, no, I'll do it. Won't take long. C'mon Ezra, you can help."

"At your service, Mr. Jackson," the gambler bowed deeply.

"Ha ha," Nathan mocked. He rewrapped the finger, so the fabric was better situated to cut off the blood flow, and tied it off. "First, though, you two may as well come with me to explain to my friends what's going on."

Josiah smiled, but Ezra's face paled. "If its alright with you, Mr. Jackson, I'd rather not."

"What?" Both men looked at him.

"I said, I'd rather not. Was I unclear?" A poker face greeted Nathan's narrowed eyes, and the healer felt he finally understood the gambler's earlier reaction.

"Something the matter with my friends, Ezra? You think you're too good for them?" Nathan seethed, his face darkening.

"Mr. Jackson, I would never…"

"Hush up, Ezra!" The healer snapped angrily, allowing his irritation to take over. "Look, I don't know what you're problem is, but you're getting over it right now, understand? I won't have you disrespecting people I care about just 'cause you have some twisted notion about skin color. I've had just about enough of your condescending Southern bull on the subject over this past year. You know, I'd thought you'd changed after the whole Li Pong thing, but I guess not. Well, you're going to change now."

"I assure you Mr. Jackson, my feelings on this matter have absolutely nothing…"

"Don't want to hear it. Don't want to know. But let me tell you, if I even get one inkling that you still got those racist thoughts in your head, I swear to God, it won't be Chris whom you'll have to fear running you out of town, but me. Got that?" 

Ezra's face looked so startled, Josiah almost started laughing. But the gambler quickly gathered his dignity about him, and took a deep breath. 

"Well, then, by all means, Mr. Jackson. Lead the way." He bowed again, if possible even more deeply than before. Nathan gave him an exasperated look, then turned on his heel to head back to the dining room, not even bothering to see if Josiah and Ezra followed.

Back in the dining room, Nathan strolled in just as the waiter walked away with their orders. He nodded at Nathan, and the healer nodded back. The people at the table watched him approach, then stood as they realized that the two odd looking white men behind Nathan were with him.

"BB, Charles, everyone, I'm afraid I must leave you for about ten minutes. One of my friends here," he looked at Josiah, who smiled crookedly at the couples, "decided to try navigating some ice encrusted steps while holding a handsaw. Josiah Sanchez, may I introduce BB and Charles Weller, Wallace and Lacey Milton, and John and Annabel Street."

A general chorus of "nice to meet yous" and "hellos" met the statement, in return for which Josiah apologized profusely for interrupting their dinner.

"And this here is Ezra Standish." Ezra tipped his hat at the gentlemen, and took each of the ladies hands in his own to kiss. Annabel actually giggled, and John gave her a disapproving look. 

"Pleasure to meet you all," Ezra told them, his deep southern drawl unmistakable. Nathan's companions all stiffened involuntarily, but Ezra didn't notice nor was he aware of the fact that both Lacey and BB wiped the hands he'd kissed on their napkins. His eyes were fixed on Charles Weller's, and the large black man actually shifted back a step. Nathan's brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the moment.

"You two know each other?"

Ezra looked askance at Nathan, then back at Charles, a small smile touching his lips. "I'm not sure. Do you know me, Mr. Weller?"

"Standish…no, can't say I've ever known anyone by that name," Charlie replied quickly, shaking his head nervously. Abruptly, the large man turned to look at BB, "I'm sorry baby, but I suddenly don't feel that hungry. I think I'll go and lie down."

"Charlie?" She couldn't hide her surprise, and shot a nasty look at Ezra. The gambler rolled back a bit on his heels, looking for all the world like he was not paying attention. "I really don't think…"

"No back talk, BB. I will see you upstairs." He nodded at the others, and at Nathan, then left, almost at a run.

BB looked at Ezra, her face puzzled. But he had sidled to stand a little behind Nathan, his hat lowered to partially cover his face. 

"I'm sorry, I don't understand what came over him," she apologized nervously.

"Nonsense, sweety. We all know what you husband is like," Annabel soothed. Glancing up, she blushed when she realized that there were strangers at the table. She dropped her gaze to the floor. Nathan, confused and irritated, quickly tried to change the subject. 

"Well, um, I, uh, I guess I'll be getting Josiah here to the clinic. I'll be back as fast as I can. Don't hesitate to start without me." Nathan said, taking his closest friend by the arm. 

"Pleasure to meet you folks," Josiah nodded.

"Likewise," Ezra added, tipping his hat. He led the way out, followed closely by the others. 

At the table, BB looked at the others, then down at her lap. Lacey shifted to take Charlie's seat, and took her hand. With a more subdued air, the remaining members of the party sat and quietly waited for their food.

____________________________

"You gonna tell me what that was all about?" Nathan demanded, pushing Ezra forward so that the gambler slid in the snow. Ezra just shot him a look, and kept walking.

"I said, you gonna tell me what that was about!" Nathan shoved him again, and this time Ezra went down, falling onto one knee. 

"Back off, Nathan," the gambler spat. He stood up, brushing the snow from his plum wool coat and pinstriped trousers with black gloved hands. "It is none of your business."

"If it involves Boston, it is my business."

"Well then I can assure you with absolute conviction that it has nothing whatsoever to do with your erstwhile Juliet," Ezra replied, facing Nathan directly. 

"It involves her husband," Nathan answered, crossing his arms.

"Brother Nathan," Josiah tried, stepping forward to take the healer's shoulder in one hand. "I think…"

"Shut up Josiah!" Nathan yelled, jerking from the grip. "No one asked you."

"Don't talk to him like that," Ezra rebounded quickly. At almost the same instant, his face took on an expression of astonishment, "Did I just say that?" he asked of the air. Josiah cracked an impromptu smile. Nathan merely glowered.

"Fine, you don't want to tell me, you low-life, don't tell me. But, God help me, you do anything to hurt that girl and…"

"Yeah, yeah. Cry me a river."

That was it, Nathan moved forward and used both hands to shove Ezra backwards into the snow. With a heavy whump, the gambler landed hard into a snow drift, half his body disappearing into the white powder. 

"Get out of my sight!" Nathan declared. "Josiah. Clinic. Now." And with that, he strode off into the night, presumably to go home. Josiah watched him leave, glanced down at Ezra who was having difficulty extricating himself, and shrugged an "I'm sorry." Then he took off after the long legged healer. 

"That went well," Ezra muttered to himself. With a little effort, he got back to his feet, and stomped some of the snow from his legs. He looked around to make sure that the others were out of sight, then looked back up the street to the brightly lit hotel, glowing like a beacon against the dark night. Breathing slowly out of his nose, he considered his options. Looking down, he pulled out his pocket watch and angled it towards the light. Seven thirty. He popped it shut, and patted it back into place. After a moment, a wicked gleam came to his eye, and, steeling his jaw, slowly walked down an alley, fully intending to return to the hotel by the back door.

______________________________________

By the time the clock in the dining room chimed eleven, Nathan and BB were the only ones left in the room. The other couples had long since retired after the long stage coach ride, and everyone else had either gone to the saloon or gone to bed. The cook and waiters had closed the kitchen, and the only noise came from the night manager flipping over the pages of the day's Clarion out in the lobby. 

For a while, neither person at the table spoke, simply reveling in the realization that they were together again. It was taking all of Nathan's will power not to lean over and kiss the girl before him.

From the way she stared back, he couldn't help but wonder if she felt that way too.

"What happened to you?" he whispered at last, breaking the sweet silence that had blanketed them. "Why didn't you go to your sister? I went there looking for you after I couldn't find my family, but she told me you never came. I was afraid you were dead, and that your sister simply couldn't bring herself to tell me."

"Dead? Oh, Nathan," she shook her head. "No, I wasn't dead. Though, for a while there…" Her voice trailed off, and a small hand shook as it moved to cover her mouth. 

"What happened?"

She shut her eyes, and when she opened them, there were tears there. "Its…hard. I…I…okay, get a hold of yourself BB," she said sternly to herself. "After I left you, which had to be one of the hardest things I've ever done," she smiled at him, "I continued to work on the railroad. I worked all through the war, Nathan, and I never once lost a one. Got everyone to the free lands, without a single lynching. Then, when we learnt of Appomattox, I thought that was it. It was over. I was so excited, I never even saw what was coming." She shivered, and closed her eyed.

"Man, I was proud, Nathan. I didn't think…I thought I could walk in the open air without fear," she shook her head. Nathan took her hand in his, understanding and empathy thick in his gaze. He knew only too well what it had been like. He'd tried to find his family amid all that pain, finally running North and the promise of finding her to get away from it. But it had been little better up there – the war had damaged everyone. Only out here in the West was he able to let the images of the war and its aftermath go.

"I was still in the South, down in Alabama, when the war ended." BB continued, her voice a bit tremulous. She looked into his calm eyes, gathering strength from them, and sighed. "I remember watching with complete amazement as the world around me went mad. I saw a few black slaves rising against their masters, burning anything left worth saving, but that was nothing compared to the blame the former masters placed on us. All those confederate soldiers, burnt out and destroyed – they only had one thought, to find every black face they could and crush it, as if we were to blame for all that devastation. And then there came the Klan, appearing out of nowhere like the four horsemen hailing Armageddon. There were bodies everywhere, and I swear, I could hear the dogs chasing men, women and children through the woods all night long. You could almost taste the insanity that plagued the people."

"I wanted to get North, to go to Boston, to the beautiful city I dreamed of every night, but all my routes were blocked. Then the soldiers…a whole knot of them…captured me and took me, kicking and screaming, all the way to hell….After that, all I know is that when I came to, I was in Tennessee somewhere, near Memphis and the river. I was being taken care of by some other black folks, who told me that they'd been carrying me along with them for over a week. Apparently, they'd found me on the riverbank, naked and nearly dead." Her eyes glazed over, and she looked out the window into the darkness beyond. Nathan didn't say a word, simply held her hand. "One of them was Charlie." She shuddered, remembering the way her husband's coal black eyes had looked when she first met him. Deep in those depths, she'd seen so much sadness, and so much fury, and all that promise. It had taken her breath away, partly in fear and partly in admiration. She just wished she had known then that it wasn't love. 

But she knew it now, as she looked back at the man in front of her. He looked at her with those intense eyes, so full of love and compassion, and she remembered what it had been like to love someone without conditions.

"You don't have to continue," Nathan told her, misreading her gaze. It surprised him when she suddenly smiled.

"Oh, but I can't. You see, that was when everything changed, when my luck changed." She smiled even more brightly, and tugged at the locket around her neck. "Do you know how I still have this? I swallowed it. At some point, I must have been aware enough to know when I passed it 'cause Charlie said he found it gripped in my fist when they found me. It meant that the soldiers had failed. I was still me," she smiled, and gripped the locket tightly.

"Charlie got us a boat, and we went up the Mississippi all the way to Illinois. I remember when we went past Saint Louis, and Charlie whispered in my ear that we were almost there. By the time we reached Springfield, I could almost walk again on my own. I never wanted to leave." The tears continued to fall as she looked out the window again. 

"I never made it to Boston, but that's okay. I realized when I was in Springfield, when I married Charlie beneath all those trees with the smell of chamomile and pine filling my senses, that it wasn't really the city that I wanted, but what it represented. It meant freedom to me, and…I already had that." She turned back to him, the smile on her face almost wistful. 

"Boston is right here," she whispered to him, tapping her chest, "and its here," she reached across and tapped his chest as well. He gripped the hand when it didn't draw back from its place over his heart, and brought it up to his lips. She let him kiss it, her eyes still silently dripping tears. 

Without conscious thought, he leaned forward at the same time she did, their lips meeting in a touch as light as the snow that fell past the window.

The night manager glanced in at the couple, then did what he did best. He averted his eyes.

__

To be Continued in Part Two


	2. Part Two

Title: The Story of Boston Bound, part 2 of 4

Author: Tipper

Disclaimer: see part one.

The Story of Boston Bound

Part two

The next morning dawned with a sharpness that only a pure white landscape can create. The snow reflected the sun brightly, deepening the clear blue sky, and causing even the eagles to squint. 

Four Corners was awake early, shoveling and chopping and laughing. Even Ezra was awake, unable to fight the glare of the landscape through his window, and helping Inez clear the snow from in front of the saloon. 

Upstairs in the clinic, Nathan was dressing Josiah's hand, checking the stitches and changing the bandage. The preacher watched quietly as Nathan worked, not oblivious to the strained atmosphere that had attached itself to the young man. But he waited, unwilling to interfere until asked to.

Nathan finished tying off the bandage, and patted Josiah on the arm.

"How's it feel?" he asked. "Too tight?"

"Just fine, brother. Nothing a little liquor wouldn't help dull."

"Good, good," came the absent reply. The healer stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the drifts were at least a foot high – there was no way anyone was going to be coming or going today. It would be a peaceful day for the lawmen.

And BB would be here another day. 

"The weather is warming up," Josiah said lightly. "All those icicles that formed last night are dripping like crazy. Might be a good idea to cut up some more bandages in case any decide to fall on someone's head."

"How long do you think the snow will keep?"

"Not long with this sun. Probably be mostly dirty slush in a couple of days."

"I kissed her Josiah."

The water basin next to the preacher's elbow crashed to the floor, and Josiah blushed a deep red as Nathan turned his surprised gaze on him. 

"Sorry, sorry," Josiah mumbled, picking up the shallow metal bowl. "Wasn't expecting that." He smiled sheepishly, and replaced it in its former position. Nathan just stared at him, then shut his eyes.

"I don't know how it happened," he said, "one second we were talking, then…."

"She kiss you back?"

Nathan's eyes opened, and he relived the moment in his mind. Finally, he nodded. "She loves me, Josiah. But she won't leave him. Says she can't."

Josiah watched the anguish that crept across the younger man's face, and shook his head. "What are you going to do?"

Nathan opened his mouth, then shut it. Finally, he shrugged. "I don't know, Josiah. All I know is that I don't want to lose her again."

______________________________

The freezing cold air bit at Carl Weather's cheeks as he dug out the space in front of the mercantile. Mrs. Potter was inside with Sarah, preparing for what would unquestionably be a long day. However beautiful the snow may be, it also meant the town was now cut off from the outside for at least a few days, and the Potter General Store would be the only source of supplies since the grocery store down the street was closed for the winter.

He straightened, arching his aching back, and shook some of the twinges that still shivered up his leg. He'd broken it when he first arrived four months ago, when he and Sarah had tried to join the Seminole that lived half a days ride out from here. As a result, he had been forced to find work here in the town, refusing to be a burden to anyone, especially the good Seminole. They had a hard enough time feeding themselves without him and his wife hanging about. Nathan had gotten him a job working for Mrs. Potter, and the arrangement turned out to work well for everyone. Mrs. Potter had herself a man around the place again, which is especially useful for when she had to lift heavy objects, and Carl and Sarah found themselves a new home. They lived above the store, renting the top floor of the three story structure, and were happy for the first time in a long while.

He smiled as he looked about the town, even when he spotted the plum coated gambler out in front of the saloon leaning lazily on his shovel and watching one of the other regulators chat with Inez, the bar manager. He recognized the man from many years ago, though Ezra had just been a boy then, probably no more than 14 or 15. Of course, he knew well that the southerner had absolutely no recollection of him. Not surprising – most white folks had that ability to look through black folks as if they were glass, and the gambler was no exception. Hell, he probably wrote the book. It had been a shock to see him here, an ugly reminder of what Carl and Sarah had tried so hard to get away from before the war ended. Had Carl known he would be in the same town as him, he and Sarah probably would have traveled further, tried to run again, but then he'd broken his leg.

And Nathan came. 

He remembered the day Nathan had set his leg like it was yesterday. The gambler playing with the children at the village, and Nathan telling Carl that he trusted the red coated man with his life. Carl had watched with astonishment and confusion then as the two had interacted like brothers, clearly enjoying each others company without thought, despite their obvious differences.

It had given Carl the strength to sit still, and to even come to like the Southern bastard…to a degree. 

As if aware of the scrutiny, Ezra straightened and looked over at the General Store, and saw Carl watching him. He smiled and tipped his riverboat hat at the black man, and Carl raised his hand in acknowledgement. Then Ezra pulled his shovel from out the snow, and unceremoniously stuck it in the hand of the man – Vin Tanner – who was still talking to Inez before walking into the saloon. Vin shouted "hey!" at the receding back, but got no response. Carl grinned and shook his head. What a real lay-about that gambler was.

"Carl?" The voice was light, female, and incredibly familiar. Carl turned to see that a couple had emerged from the hotel and were walking towards him. He knew the face of the old black woman and her husband keenly, and he dropped his shovel in shock.

"Miss Lacey?"

"Carl! My God, I thought that was you child!" Lacey jogged a few steps forward and embraced the man. Carl was hardly a child at the ripe age of forty, but, in the arms of the woman who'd all but raised him (and every other man and woman on that ranch), such facts were irrelevant.

Carl released her and pushed her back so that he could see her better, and was impressed to see that she looked so much healthier than she used to. "Miss Lacey, you look wonderful." He looked over at the man, and stuck his hand out. "And Wally…I can't believe it. Its been so long…" He trailed off, pumping Wallace Milton's hand. The old man just grinned.

"Good to see you son," Carl's old foreman whispered in return, his voice faint. Carl's eyes trailed across the old scars around the man's neck, surprised that the old man could talk at all. The man had worn an iron collar around his neck for a month once, that scraped and chafed the skin enough to leave a permanent scar. It had also damaged his vocal cords. It was about a month after that that Charlie Weller had come to get the couple and run them north.

"What are you doing here?" Lacey asked, still holding his other arm, as if afraid he would run away. 

"I live here, Miss Lacey. Me and Sarah live above the Mercantile here."

"Sarah?" Lacey brought her free hand to her mouth, "Heavens be, is she here as well? Charlie told us that he'd lost her after…" She trailed off, her eyes scanning the street for the girl.

"After we got captured, yeah. But I found her again when the war was over, though it took me a few years. And as soon as I did, we got away from there as soon as we could." He stood proudly, and leaned against the handle of the shovel where it stuck upright in the snow as if her were leaning on a scepter. "We arrived here almost four months ago. October."

"Well, you look right well, Carl. Where is Sarah? Can we see her?"

"Sure! She's inside, helping the store owner with the inventory. Come on, I'll introduce you. Let me just get one of the boys to finish this." He whistled, and called out the name of Mrs. Potter's son. From around the corner, a young white boy, about twelve, came charging, his clothes covered in snow. Carl leaned over, told him to finish the front, and tousled his hair. Lacey and Wallace raised eyebrows, but, when no one stepped forward to reprimand Carl for his insolence about treating a white boy this way, they relaxed some. Carl flashed them a smile, and, with the couple behind him, went into the store.

Sarah was up on a ladder, calling down numbers to Mrs. Potter, who was herself marking them down on a pad. Both women glanced across as Carl entered, and Mrs. Potter frowned slightly at the interruption. Lacey and Wallace stopped on the doorstep, waiting to be invited in. Sarah's eyes widened, and her face spilt into a wide grin.

"Sarah, love, look who is here," Carl said. 

"Saints alive, child, are you sure that ladder is safe?" Lacey called, looking up.

"Miss Lacey! Wally! Oh my goodness!" The girl jumped down, forcing Mrs. Potter to step back to avoid being in her way. The older woman looked bemused for a moment, then smiled and leaned against the ladder as she witnessed the reunion. Sarah was in the older black woman's arms, and Wally was patting her affectionately on the back. Carl glanced over at Mrs. Potter, his look a bit sheepish.

"Sorry, Ms. Potter," he said, "I promise we won't be long, and you can have Sarah back…"

"Nonsense, Carl," Mrs. Potter waved off his words. "I'll have Violet help me until you can get back. Take your time," she smiled and put down her clipboard. With a nod to the newcomers, who still stood in the doorway, she went off in search of her daughter.

"What are doing here? Are you moving here?" Sarah couldn't keep the enthusiasm from her voice as she stepped back to allow the two visitors to breath. They grinned back, much more comfortable now that Mrs. Potter had left. Carl brought them inside, into the warmth, his ears burning with the sudden change in temperature. Lacey took Sarah's hand in her own, patting it gently.

"No child, I'm afraid we're just passing through. We're on our way to Arizona, to start a ranch. And guess who is going to run it?" She looked at Wallace, who nodded. Carl was leaning on the wall, Wallace slightly in front of them, and Lacey had her back to him. Neither saw the way his face suddenly frowned.

Sarah's eyes darted from one person to the other, and still smiling, she shrugged, "Who?"

"Why, our very own Charlie Weller. He's next door at the hotel, you must see him. He and a couple of white folks from Illinois have invested in this land, and he's taking all of us to go there to live. Isn't that just wonderful? He's finally getting his dream." Lacey looked at Wallace, who smiled lightly.

Sarah blanched, "Charlie?"

"And his wife, BB, sweetest little thing you ever saw," Lacey added. Her face fell when she realized that Sarah looked a little less than pleased.

"Wife?" Carl asked, standing up straight now. "He got himself a wife at last, did he?" The sardonic tone was not lost on the older couple.

Wallace moved so that he could look at both people, a frown evident on his features. "What's the matter?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Is Charlie here?" Carl questioned in response, his mouth curled in an ugly sneer. "I'd love to see him again."

"I…he's at the hotel. Carl, what is the matter with you?" Lacey demanded. She looked down when she realized that Sarah had withdrawn her hand from her arm. She looked at the girl and was alarmed to see that much of the color had gone from her face. "Sarah?"

"I…I'm sorry, Miss Lacey. I don't think I feel too well anymore. Carl?" She looked to her husband, who looked ready to run out the doors and tear down the hotel with his bare hands. Reaching out, she stumbled to him, "Carl, take me upstairs, please." She reached him finally, draping her hands on his upper arm. For a moment, he didn't see her, until she increased the pressure on his arm. He looked at her, to see her shaking her head emphatically.

"Please Carl," she whispered.

"Sarah," Lacey entreated, still trying to understand their reaction. "Please, if something I said has hurt you…." Wallace reached over to take the old woman's hand.

Sarah was still looking at Carl, and he found himself unable to break her gaze. Finally, he shut his eyes, and his shoulders slumped. Sarah looked over at the visitors, and attempted a smile.

"I'm sorry Miss Lacey, Wally…it was wonderful to see you, but perhaps you should move on." Her voice was undemanding, but there was a quality of finality to it. 

"Carl, Sarah, please, don't dismiss us like this. Not after everything," Lacey's eyes filled with tears, but Sarah shook her head. 

"We can't look back anymore, Miss Lacey," Sarah said, her voice breaking. She fell slightly onto Carl, finally waking him from his reverie. The heavyset man looked sadly upon his old friends, then, taking his wife by the arms, led her through to the back. Mrs. Potter walked back in with Violet at that moment, her daughter's snow drenched hair hidden beneath a towel. Violet looked at the newcomers, and smiled, while Mrs. Potter looked at the retreating backs of the young black couple.

Lacey smiled back as best she could, then, apologizing to Mrs. Potter for intruding, she and her husband quickly bowed back out the door. Out on the boardwalk, Lacey looked at her husband, her eyes still holding tears.

________________________________

Vin finished shoveling out the saloon, and practically threw the shovel down. He was so angry at Ezra, he wanted to spit! Fancy giving him the shovel after only having done a third of the long boardwalk, and after Vin had spent the morning clearing the livery and stables, and clearing a path behind the saloon to the privy for Inez. He'd just been telling her that he was done when that lazy, spoiled good-for-nothing stuck the shovel in his hand without so much as a by your leave. Inez had sighed, saying she had known it couldn't last, and reached for the shovel. Well, being the chivalrous type, Vin had dismissed her attempt and told her that he would finish the job. Her eyes had been grateful, and she promised to let him eat free for the next couple of days. Small comfort when she generally let them eat on the house anyway. He stretched his aching back, and groaned.

In the back of his mind, Vin was already working through several scenarios of the best way to cause Ezra pain without actually killing him. A smile crossed his features as he imagined Ezra roasting on a spit, that stupid red coat of his on fire at the coat tails.

"Well, you're cheerful," Buck said gaily as he wandered up. The ladies man clapped his hands together for warmth, and smiled.

Vin looked up, and arched a brow. "Just imaging all the different ways I could torture good ol' Ez for leaving me with this thankless job," he gestured at the boardwalk. Buck laughed.

"Yeah, me and JD just spent the morning clearing the way in front of the boarding house and some of the stores down at the end." He looked down the street, noticing how the pristine snow had already taken on the dingy quality of being around too many people. Looking back at Vin, he took in the tracker's tired stance, and clapped him on the back.

"C'mon pard, let me buy you some sustenance for that little frame of yours."

"Little frame?" Vin shot back, straightening from his customary lean. Again, Buck just laughed, and wrapped a hand around Vin's upper arm. Vin allowed himself to be led, then he balked.

"Oh, wait, I should get that shovel put away so it don't rust. I'll meet you inside, okay?"

Buck just shrugged, and continued on into the saloon on his own. Vin grabbed the shovel and tossed it onto his shoulder. Glancing around, he looked to make sure that everyone else had finished clearing the boardwalks in front of all the open businesses. It was only by chance that he happened to see a flash of purple as Ezra bobbed and weaved between the townsfolk on his way to the hotel. Gripping the handle of the shovel more tightly, Vin found himself focusing on Ezra, wondering how the gambler had gotten by without his seeing him.

He could only have done so by leaving the saloon by the back door. 

Vin thought on this, and frowned. Now, he might understand if it was because Ezra was avoiding him, for so rudely passing the buck on the shoveling detail, but that was unlikely. Ezra was more likely to flaunt his little victory over the tracker, not act furtively. 

Then there was the way the man was moving. Ezra's head was low, hat pointed downwards over his eyes, and his steps were short as he drew his plum coat tighter around him. He was trying not to be noticed, acting much like he when he is about to work a con or pull a practical joke. Vin followed him with his eyes until the gambler disappeared down the alley between the hotel and the Mercantile. 

Curiosity, one of Vin Tanner's strongest traits, got the better of him at that moment, and he smiled. He propped the shovel back up on the boardwalk in front of the saloon, then ran out after the gambler. He would get to the bottom of this.

____________________________

Ezra leaned against the wall at the bottom of the alley, and tugged at his jacket sleeves. He knew he didn't have to wait long, and, sure enough, the crunching footsteps of a man plodding from the rear door of the hotel greeted him. He looked up, then away as Charlie Weller moved to stand a little in front and off to the side – facing Ezra without actually facing him. 

"So, what is your answer, Mr. Weller," Ezra drawled, pulling off the glove on his right hand to expose it to the cold air. He looked at his nails, wondering if he had damaged his hands at all as a result of the forced labor he'd done this morning.

Charlie licked his lips, and balled his hands into fists. "I have nothing to say to you, Spencer."

"Standish, sir. The name is Standish."

"Then I have nothing to say to you…Standish," Charlie spat the surname, his black eyes glaring at Ezra. Then, as if disgusted, he looked off into the snow covered meadows that drew away from the hotel's back door.

Ezra sighed, and tucked his glove into his gunbelt. "I must say, I find that hard to believe. Perhaps I did not make myself clear last night…."

"Oh, you made yourself perfectly clear, you son of a bitch! You think that I'm just going to roll over to your blackmail? You think far too highly of yourself," Charlie stepped forward, then rocked back. "You're scum, you Southern piece of trash, and there ain't no way you'll get one piece of what I got."

Ezra looked up, his poker face frightening in its coolness. Charlie couldn't help but wonder which was more icy – the southerner's frost green eyes or the snow underfoot.

"May I suggest you reconsider, Mr. Weller? Unless, of course, you want that lovely wife of yours to know the fickle nature of your fugitive running business, and the money you made off of it." He smiled wickedly, his gold tooth gleaming.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Spencer. And you have no proof."

"Oh but I do…two pieces of proof, to be exact. They live in this town, and I have no doubt that they would be more than willing to support me in my endeavor to expose you." Ezra raised his eyebrows, watching as Charlie's face registered confusion at this statement. The black man did not know about Carl and Sarah Weathers, but Ezra did. Contrary to Carl's belief, Ezra had recognized the couple immediately upon their arrival at the Seminole village. Their faces, and those of several others, had been burned in his memory.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Charlie said finally.

"No, I don't suppose you do," Ezra replied. 

Charlie waited for more, but when the gambler simply chose to lean there, staring at him with those hateful green eyes, he realized that it was pointless. Grimacing, he made to turn away, his hand drifting to his belt. Fingers wrapped around the knife hidden there, and Charlie smiled slightly. 

Ezra watched the subtle movements without reaction. He would have snorted in laughter had he not been trying to retain a cold demeanor. Weller was so obvious.

"I ain't giving you nothing, cretin, so you best just leave, or I'll show you what proof really is." Charlie gripped the handle, his heart swelling at the idea of taking this southern reprobate down. His gravel voice was very effective in making the threat sound real, and Ezra silently applauded the performance. Chris did it better though, mainly because he knew that Chris could actually back the threat up. 

When it became clear that Ezra wasn't leaving, Charlie smiled. "So be it," he said, leering. He spun around, ready to pull the knife…and stopped before it was halfway out of the sheath. 

The black barrel of a Remington stared him directly in the face. He hadn't even seen the gambler draw.

"I'm sorry," Ezra drawled, "what did you say?"

Charlie stammered, and backed away, the knife falling loosely to the ground. "What are you going to do?" He asked tremulously.

"Nothing, unless you try that move again. Believe me, Mr. Weller, you are outclassed on this one." Slowly, never lowering his aim, or taking his eyes from his opponent, Ezra reached down and scooped up the knife. He slid it onto his own belt, letting the handle hook itself on the leather. Finished, he leaned himself back against the wall, and brought the gun back to point away from Charlie, towards the sky.

"Now, I ask you again, Mr. Weller….What is your answer to my proposition."

Charlie swallowed, and looked down the alley. There was no one around, the shadows deep enough to hide them both beneath the shielding eaves of the clapboard buildings. No way out.

"What do you want me to do," he muttered, slumping his shoulders. Ezra grinned, flashing his tooth.

"I'll return this evening with the contracts. Excuse yourself early from dinner again, and I'll find you in your rooms. We'll finish this then." He nodded, and returned his revolver to its holster, snapping the latch into place. 

Charlie nodded, not looking up. Then, as Ezra drew himself from off the wall, Charlie's breath quickened and the large black man tried again. He lunged at Ezra with his bare hands, figuring his greater weight and strength would give him the advantage, and found himself grasping air as the gambler easily sidestepped the maneuver. With a flick of his wrist, Ezra had the derringer in hand and resting on Charlie's temple where the larger man was still bent over facing the now blank wall.

"Outclassed, Mr. Weller, and outgunned. Until later," The gambler backed away, leaving Charlie still frozen in place. When he reached halfway up the alley, Ezra turned and casually walked the rest of the way, unconcernedly tucking the derringer away. When he was once more on main street, he placed the glove back on his right hand.

Charlie slumped down onto his knees, and gagged. God, he hated that man. Hated him when he was just a lackey to his mother's rule, and hated him even more now. When Charlie finally stood up, and attempted weakly to brush the snow from his legs and hands, he noticed that the world seemed to have taken on a reddish tinge. Grimacing, he rubbed his eyes and moved to walk back into the hotel.

Vin hugged the back of the mercantile as Charlie entered his line of vision. The black man never saw the tracker, but Vin saw him. As soon as Charlie was inside, Vin brought a hand to his heart and shut his eyes. 

"Oh hell, Ezra," he whispered. "How could you?" Slowly, he opened his gray eyes, the shame he felt for the gambler clear. 

__________________________________

Nathan clicked his tongue as Mr. Greene's son, Jeremy, squirmed under his care. The little boy had, as Josiah had foreseen, gotten in trouble with an icicle. The difference was, it hadn't fallen on the boy's head. Jeremy'd climbed up on some precariously stacked empty crates by the side of the apothecary shop and tried to pluck one off from an eave. According to his brother Elwyn, who was bouncing up and down by the door impatiently, Jeremy had fallen with a great deal of style and then cried like a baby for ten whole minutes afterwards, despite only succeeding in grazing his head a little and ripping a hole in his trousers.

He stuck a piece of gauze over the small cut on the boy's head, taped the bandage into place, and tapped the boy on the cheek. 

"There you go, Jeremy. All done," he smiled at the boy, who grimaced back. 

"Thanks Nathan," the ten year old said contritely. He got up and walked to the door, grabbing the arm of his younger brother in the process. Elwyn grinned at Jeremy, and waved at Nathan as the older boy dragged him from the clinic.

Nathan was still smiling when another knock on the door broke in on his reverie. It was turning into a very long day, he thought moodily, but at least it was keeping him from thinking about…

"Nathan?" BB peeked her head in, her beret askew as always. She had a scarf tied around her face, covering it from the cold breeze wafting in. Nathan dropped the washbasin he'd been drying to the floor. BB let out a little apology at his reaction, and rushed over to pick it up. Nathan had already bent down to retrieve it, resulting in them both inches away from each other. 

BB broke the eye contact first, backing up so that she was standing a good five feet away from him. Nathan picked the basin up and placed it on the small stand next to a chair. He looked at the metal sheen, noticing how dull and lifeless it seemed.

"We need to talk," BB said, moving to lean on the wall near the door. She glanced down, looked for a lock. There wasn't one. That meant anyone could barge in at any moment. She sighed.

"I can put a chair against the door," Nathan suggested, knowing her thoughts. BB looked up, surprised he could read her so well already. Eventually, she shook her head. Nathan nodded, and sat down in the same chair that Jeremy had sat in. His fingers idly traced the rim of the basin.

"I…I'm sorry about last night. I know what you must think of me," she whispered, her voice muffled by the scarf she still had tied around her face. Nathan frowned.

"No, Boston, you don't. I love you, always have. You were, are, one of the best things that ever happened to me. Nothing that happens now will change that. I just wish…" He shook his head, unable to put into words the fact that he wanted her to leave the man she said saved her life. BB stared at the floor, her hands shaking where they clung to the fabric of her cloak. She balled the calfskin in her fists, then let go so as to bring her hands together.

"You want to sit down? Take off your scarf and coat?" Nathan asked after a moment. BB shook her head.

"Then I take it you have nothing more to say to me," the healer noted, his own hands unmoving where they lay in his lap.

"Love…its not a very pretty word, is it? I mean, as words go," BB replied nonsensically, her brown eyes tracing the flow of the wood that made the clinic. "I mean, I've heard much prettier words that seem to mean a lot less, and sure as hell hurt a lot less." She stopped, aware that she was rambling. She looked at Nathan, and slid to the floor to sit with her knees close to her hurting chest. 

"I love you, Nathan. I would have gone to war with you, had you asked. Except that I couldn't. Besides being the wrong color, I was the wrong sex. Always, the wrong sex." She shook herself, but kept his eyes held tightly inside her own. "I had to do what I could. It's the way I was brought up."

Nathan tilted his head, and squinted slightly. When BB had slid to the floor, some of the scarf around her face had come loose, and he thought he could see a slight discoloration on her left cheek. BB ignored the scarf, intent on her words.

"I came to see you, Nathan, because I needed to…I wanted you to know that…you will always be love to me. But I can not stay. I owe him too much to leave him." She shut her eyes, and sighed. "Please tell me you understand." 

"Take off your scarf."

"What?" she looked up, her hands automatically reaching to tug the scarf higher.

"Did he hit you?"

"What! Nathan, no, of course not." Shaking uncontrollably now, BB pulled herself back up to her feet. The healer mirrored her movements, and strode across to where she cowered against the wall. Gently, he reached up and pulled at the scarf, loosening it. She shut her eyes as he took in the swollen lips and discolored jaw. She'd been hit, and hit hard. He looked at her face, unable to hide the rage that newly infused his tone.

"Did Charlie do this?"

"It doesn't matter," she answered.

"Are you insane?" Nathan backed away, his eyes scanning the rest of her for damage. "How could you let him hit you?"

BB's eyes snapped open, her gaze suddenly angry. "Let him? You think I let him? He doesn't exactly ask me first, Nathan."

"That's not what I meant," he said, but BB didn't want to listen. She turned away, her eyes welling with tears. He reached out to touch her shoulder, but drew it back.

"Did he hit you because of me?" 

BB glanced at him from the corner of her eye, then looked back at the wall. "Maybe…in part. But, there was something else too, something else that made him angry last night. I don't know why he hit me. I never do."

"He's done this before?"

BB simply nodded. Nathan reached out again, and this time he let his hand drift down to touch her lightly on the shoulder. She was still shaking, but not as badly. When she didn't pull away from the touch, he drew himself closer to her so that he could place his face in her hair.

"Stay with me, here," he begged, his voice husky.

BB listened, her eyes wide. They stood in that tableau for a good minute, absorbing the quiet of the clinic like the eye of a storm, all the while aware of the world moving on outside. Finally, BB moved from out his grasp and placed her hand on the door latch.

"I'm sorry Nathan," she said, unable to look at him. "But I gave Charlie my loyalty, and my life."

"You make it sound like he owns you. But no one owns you, Boston Bound, not anymore. You told me so yourself." His hand traced the line of her neck, feeling the thick red ribbon that ran along it, and the gold locket of promise that it held.

She pulled away, and opened the door, letting in the cold air. "I lied," she said, just before vanishing into the brightness. The door closed after her with a resounding thud, jarring Nathan to the bone.

_______________________________

The rest of the day passed slowly, the sun beating down heavily enough make a severe dent in the height of the drifts. By the time it fell below the horizon, at least half a foot had melted away, and slush marked the ground. At some point, the stage coach driver had emerged from the saloon to measure the snow's density. With a nod of his head, he figured that he and his passengers would likely be able to escape Four Corners the day after tomorrow.

______________________________

BB didn't come down for dinner, feigning sickness. Charlie excused himself early, and wandered off into the shadows of the hotel. For the other four visitors, the rest of dinner passed in a tense silence, and not even Annabel Street at her most boisterous could break the mood. They left the table as soon as the last bit of food was eaten, and the clock chimed 7:30.

Back in the saloon, Ezra stood up to leave, patting the feel of contracts in his pocket. Looking up, he caught Vin watching him. He nodded, and tipped his hat to the tracker. Vin scowled and turned away. Ezra's face fell. Did Vin know? The gambler bowed his head, and left the warm environment, moving to go to the hotel.

Nathan sat by himself, rebuffing all of his friends who tried to join him. Josiah sat with Buck and JD, the three men watching the healer with concern as Nathan downed glass after glass of Red Eye. Abruptly, Nathan stood, his hands balled into fists, and left the saloon. As he walked past the preacher, Josiah caught the man's mumblings. 

"Not like this. I won't let her. Not like this," the healer was repeating over and over again in various forms. Josiah considered following, but was afraid. He didn't know what he could say or do to help Nathan now. 

Carl Weathers pushed his way into the saloon, and went to the bar. Inez served him, but he didn't drink. He simply stared at the bottle of Red Eye as if it were poison. Finally, he scooped the bottle from off the bar with his hand, never once making eye contact with the others in the dank room, and fled the scene. 

In the background, Chris was aware of it all. Without conscious thought, the man in black absorbed everything with the air of a tiger on the prowl. Ezra's odd behavior, and Vin's reaction to it. Nathan and BB Weller, both when he first saw her, to the way he was drinking heavily now. The way BB had run to Nathan's clinic this afternoon, clearly trying to hide bruising beneath that scarf. The fact that Carl and Sarah Weathers had left Mrs. Potter short handed today, and the knowledge that it had been the visit of the old couple of newcomers that had been the stimulus for the retreat. And then there was Charlie Weller. Chris had seen him walking out the back of the hotel just after dinner, looking as if he planned to walk into the meadows beyond and never come back. 

Taking a sip of the whiskey before him, Chris catalogued the information, and tried to ignore the foreboding in his stomach.

__________________________

It was a new moon, and the temperature dropped distinctly, freezing the snow and turning it into ice. From Mr. Greene's apothecary shop, the faint sound of his grandfather clock chimed the hour, the single clang rippling out, somehow unsatisfying in its singularity. Vin stood in the door to the jail, his patrol long since given up under the pressure of his thoughts, and the chill that seeped into everything. He felt completely alone in the deserted setting that gaped before him, unforgiving and fragile. 

Then his heart stopped.

The scream cut the night air, bursting forth like a clarion call, then repeated itself again and again and again, until stopping as abruptly as it begun. Vin took off running.

Chris sat bolt upright in his bed, threw on a shirt and his boots, and charged out of the boarding house gun in hand. Buck and JD joined him moments later, both hastily strapping their gun belts on over their night shirts and pajamas. Ahead of them, they watched as all the oil lamps in the hotel flared to life, along with various other lights in the structures nearby, including the mercantile and the Clarion. 

"JD, get the others," Chris ordered, not even bothering to turn to see if his orders were followed. He knew they would be. Behind him, Buck pulled out his pocket watch and tried to discern the time. As they got closer to the now well lit hotel, he could just make out the hands.

"One o'clock," he said out loud to Chris's back. The man in black acknowledged the information with a nod.

As Chris and Buck entered the lobby, it was to find all the various guests milling about like sheep, fear and confusion floating above them as thick as smoke as they stared up the stairs. Looking up, Chris saw Vin already there, standing at the top of the landing. The tracker signaled them men to come upstairs, then turned away. Buck glanced askance at his oldest friend to see if he too had seen the dread that had lined Vin's face. Chris just tensed his jaw, and headed up the stairs.

Reaching the landing, they looked down the narrow hall and saw Vin standing in the brightly lit doorway of a room near the end, leaning against the frame. Mr. Sykes, the night manager, leaned against the wall opposite the door, his face scanning the hallway carpet as if searching for the meaning of life. 

Crying emanated from the room, along with the soothing tones of someone trying to calm the crier down. Frowning even more deeply now, Chris made his way to the door, trying to read Vin's face, but the tracker was unresponsive. With a sigh, Chris looked inside and stopped, the sickening smell of blood assaulting his nostrils. Buck bumped him aside, and both stepped further inside to get a better look.

They stood in the outer room of a two room suite, the double doors next to the fireplace that led to the bedroom both ajar. This outer room was fairly small and narrow, holding a small divan and coffee table that faced a dwindling fire, and a couple of hard backed chairs and small table against the room's only window at the far end. The clapboard wall of the mercantile was visible on the other side. 

Ezra, fully dressed and covered in blood, knelt over the body, examining it where it lay between the coffee table and the fireplace. In one hand, the gambler held a long knife, the same one that Charlie had pulled on him earlier. He laid it on the ground as Buck sidled up next to him.

BB Weller, also covered in blood, was held tightly in the arms of Nathan. The healer had his eyes closed as he rocked the girl, whispering in her ear, trying to protect her from what was in front of them.

Lacey and John Milton stood off to one side, neither expressing much feeling, the result of many long years of conditioning against horrors like this. Annabel and John Street, however, were both cowering near the door to the hallway, lost in each others arms. Annabel cried quietly, while John smoothed down her hair. 

Charlie Weller was dead. Knifed several times in the chest and gut. Blood had pooled around the body, and was drying where it had been absorbed into the rug.

"My God," Josiah said from the doorway, bringing the others attention to him. "What happened?"

__

Continued in Part Three


	3. Part Three

Title: The Story of Boston Bound, part 3 of 4

Author: Tipper

Disclaimer: See part one

The Story of Boston Bound

Part three

"I was here, in the parlour, when she screamed," Ezra explained dully, his eyes focused on the bright fire blazing in the hotel's front parlour. Everyone had been moved down here when Buck went to fetch Silace, the undertaker. Annabel and Lacey both sat in the plush chairs in front of the fire, while Vin and John Street sat in a couple of hard-backed chairs. Ezra stood before the fire, hands behind his back, while Nathan and BB stood off to one side, the healer's arms still around her trembling body. Josiah, Chris, JD, the hotel manager, the night manager Mr. Sykes, and Wallace Milton all stood in various positions of repose around the room. Ezra continued at Chris's prompting.

"I ran up the stairs, followed closely by Mr. Sykes. When we got to the room, it was to find Mrs. Weller standing over the body, knife in her hand."

"I found him just lying there," BB whispered. "The knife sticking out of him." She closed her mouth, her trembling lips shut in a thin line.

"She had it in her hands when I got there," Ezra stated again, glancing at her, the implication of the remark clear.

"I…I pulled it out," she explained, meeting his cool gaze. "I don't know why. It just…I was…maybe I thought…I don't know what I was thinking."

"Shh," Nathan soothed, still holding her close and drawing her attention away from the gambler, all the while shooting daggers at Ezra. "No one is blaming you here."

"Keep going Ezra," Chris stated.

Ezra nodded, and refocused his eyes on the fire. "While Mr. Sykes tried to console Mrs. Weller, I took the knife from her and went to examine the body, hence the blood on my clothes. From the amount of blood on the floor, it looked as if he'd been dead awhile. When I looked up again, I saw that Nathan had taken over from Mr. Sykes, and that both the Streets and the Miltons were now in the room. Moments later, Vin was there, and then the rest of you." He finished his recital, and fell into silence.

"Mrs. Weller?" Chris turned to the young woman, hoping she was ready to answer questions now. He'd started with Ezra, hoping to give her enough time to get over the shock. "You feel up to telling me what happened, yet?" 

BB looked up, stared blankly into Chris's eyes. "I was asleep in the bedroom with the doors closed. I never even heard Charlie come in. He was gone all night, having left me alone after dinner. I got up to get a drink of water, and when I walked into the room, I saw him there. I screamed. That's…that's all I know. I never heard anything." She shook her head, and buried it in Nathan's chest.

"Well, then, Nathan, perhaps you can tell me what you saw," Chris said. 

"It was as Ezra described. He was kneeling over the body, knife in hand when I arrived. I took BB from Mr. Sykes, and then the rest of you came in." He watched Ezra carefully, but the gambler was completely quiet. Nathan shrugged, "On first glance, I thought that Ezra had done it, but then, looks are obviously deceiving." He said this in retaliation for Ezra's comment about seeing the knife in BB's hands. Again, Ezra ignored him, but in his chair, Vin flinched. Chris sighed.

"Well, then, fine. Nathan, I need you two to go and confer with Silace. Try to figure out when Weller died, and see what else you can learn." Nathan straightened up, preparing to argue that he didn't want to leave Boston, but Chris waved him off. "I'm sure that the Miltons and the Streets can take care of Mrs. Weller, Nathan." His tone brooked no argument, and Nathan grimaced, nevertheless he did as he was told and went to join Silace upstairs.

"Vin, JD, I want you to make sure there were no strangers hanging about anywhere – check the stables, the livery, and anywhere else you might think pertinent. Might also be a good idea to check the snow around the hotel, see if there might be anything around."

"Some bloody footprints would be nice," JD quipped, earning him a look from the man in black.

Vin snorted, but he nodded. "Sure thing, cowboy." With a glance at Ezra, he stood, placed his hat on his head, and silently left the room with JD in tow. Chris turned to his final two peacekeepers, noting that Josiah had moved to stand closer to the gambler, his stance protective. 

"Ezra, you and Josiah go and fetch Carl and Sarah Weathers from the Potters."

"What?" The word came from several sources, including both Miltons and Ezra. The gambler looked at his leader in complete astonishment.

"You heard me. I want them here. We need to get to the bottom of this before anyone can leave town, and I want all the players where I can see them." 

"What do you mean, all the players? What does this have to do with Carl and Sarah?" Lacey asked, looking worriedly at her husband. He kept his own dark eyes downcast. Chris didn't answer, just looked at Josiah. Ezra was looking with some confusion at the old couple, wondering how they also knew of the Weathers.

"They may be sleeping, Brother Larabee," the preacher said, knowing that Chris was not going to explain anything yet.

"I highly doubt that, Josiah. For one thing, they live next door, and, as we well know, BB's screams carried much farther than that. For another, very few people sleep well after imbibing an entire bottle of Red Eye." He sneered, indicating he was talking from experience. Josiah exhaled deeply, and tilted his head at Ezra. The gambler moved to follow him, and Chris took his arm as he walked past, stopping him. 

"I expect you to come back with them."

Ezra didn't flinch, his face impassive. "I was hoping to change my clothes," he muttered.

"No. I'll have JD bring you some new ones, but I don't want you going anywhere except the mercantile and back here."

Ezra's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. He was a suspect. He shook off Chris's arm and went to join an uncomfortable looking Josiah by the door. The preacher raised a hand to place on the younger man's shoulder as Ezra went past, then, with a resigned look on his face, let his hand fall back to his side.

______________________________

Once he had everyone in one place, Chris allowed them all to go get some sleep, with a warning that he planned to start his inquisition in the morning. BB went with Lacey and Wallace Milton. Ezra had fallen asleep on the couch in the parlour, with Josiah asleep in one of the chairs. The hotel manager had put Carl and Sarah in a spare room, where they were probably still awake. Buck and JD had asked the rest of the guests to return to their rooms, promising information in the morning, then taken up the role of guarding the front and back door. The night manager stood behind his desk, shakily trying to read a book, but finding himself unable to get through even a single paragraph.

Vin shook the snow from his boots and went to join Nathan and Chris sitting at one of the tables in the restaurant half of the hotel. Chris looked up as he approached, the rings under his eyes making his normally gaunt face seem even darker. 

"What did you find out?"

"There's nothing out there, pard. Whoever did this, my guess is he's still here."

"Figured as much."

"What did you find out Nathan?" Vin asked, looking to the healer.

"From what me and Silace can piece together, Charlie probably died a couple of hours before Boston found him, based on the amount of blood he'd lost. Chris said he saw Charlie going out for a walk some time around seven thirty or so, which is also about the same time that Boston said he left her alone in the room. That might be the last time anyone saw him alive. Well, except the murderer." Nathan pursed his lips. 

"Anything else?"

"There weren't no signs of a struggle, which is odd. Either it was someone stronger than Weller, or someone really quick. But even if he were caught by surprise, he should have fought some, or at least called out. Only explanation is that it had to be someone strong enough to stop him from fighting, who knew where to strike."

"Rules out the women, then," Vin mused.

"Yeah…I guess."

"You guess? Is there something more?" 

"Nope. Well…no, not really." Nathan clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, as if afraid to say something.

"What?"

"All that blood…" Nathan licked his teeth with his tongue, trying to make sense of his words.

"He was stabbed, Nathan, many times. Lots of blood everywhere kinda goes with that." Vin supplied, grimacing slightly at the gruesomeness of the subject. 

Nathan gave him the fisheye, then looked back at Chris. "No, its not the quantity that bothered me. It was the blood itself. There was something strange about it."

Chris frowned, and leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

"I…" Nathan's brow furrowed, and he shrugged. "Aw hell, I'm so tired, I don't know what I mean. It just seemed a bit unreal. Course, this whole thing is unreal." He shook his head.

"Well, then, I suggest we all get some rest. Tomorrow we'll interview each one of the suspects individually, and hopefully figure this out." Chris looked up, and noticed that Nathan was rubbing his nose tiredly. "Nathan, I would like to talk to BB after I talk to the managers. You think you could warn her when she wakes up tomorrow?" 

Nathan nodded, and sighed. When he looked up, it was to find Chris still staring at him sadly. He tensed his jaw.

"Then I guess you'll be needing to talk to me after her," the healer noted.

Chris simply nodded. "I'm sorry Nate. But you know how this works. I want you staying here tonight. I had the hotel manager set up a cot for you in the front parlour, where Ezra and Josiah are."

Nathan just nodded. "Well, then I guess I'll go and get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning." He stood, stretched, and sidled off. Vin watched him disappear into the lobby, then looked at Chris.

"You don't really suspect him, do you?"

Chris just looked at Vin, and shrugged. Vin looked away, clearly annoyed at the gunslinger's lack of faith.

"Ezra is a suspect too, you know. I don't hear you sticking up for him," Chris said.

Vin swiveled gray eyes to meet Chris's dark ones, their depths unreadable. He looked as if he were warring with himself beneath that tense face. Finally, he appeared to come to a conclusion.

"The knife," he whispered, then paused and licked his lips. "I saw it earlier. Ezra had it."

Chris's eyebrows shot up, and he digested this slowly. "Certainly makes him look bad, huh," he suggested, watching Vin closely. The tracker frowned, and shook himself slightly. After a moment, he stood up and grabbed his hat from off the table.

"I think I'm going to get some sleep too," Vin said abruptly. "Reckon there's a few free beds at the boarding house this night. You coming?"

"Nah. Hotel manager put a cot in the parlour for me too."

Vin just nodded, and moved to the door. He stopped when he reached the entrance to the lobby, and turned around. For a moment, the turbulence in his eyes had faded to calm, as something in him chose a side.

"They're both innocent, Chris, both Nathan and Ezra," he announced. "Both of 'em," he repeated, more to himself than to his best friend, and left. Chris eyed the empty doorway, sighed, and put a hand to his throbbing forehead. 

______________________________ 

Once again the sun rose in a blinding fashion, scalding the small town with its light. Icicles fell from eaves, showering any unlucky passers-by with water and ice. The townsfolk stayed beneath the porch covers, avoiding the wet slush that swirled with the mud on the road. Inez pushed open the doors of the saloon to let in the fresh air, amazed at the warmth of the air. The snow would be all but gone tomorrow.

The occupants of the hotel were awake before the sun rose, preparing the kitchens to fetch breakfast and to heat the water for the guest's baths. The night manager stood and stretched from behind his desk, and looked up as he saw the man in black emerge from the parlour. 

"Mr. Sykes," Chris called, "are you off duty yet?"

"Any minute now, Mr. Larabee."

"Good. I need to ask you some questions. But first, can you go and fetch the hotel manager for me?"

Sykes inclined his head, and went to knock on his boss's door. The hotel manager opened the wooden door on the first knock, fully dressed and clearly lacking in sleep. The night manager opened his mouth to explain the knock, but the hotel manager waved him aside. Straightening his shoulders, he patted Sykes familiarly on the arm, and followed Chris into the wakening restaurant. He would be the first.

____________________________

Vin joined Chris and Buck in the restaurant just as Sykes walked out. The tracker slumped into a chair, a toothpick in his mouth. He himself had had breakfast at the saloon, but was not surprised to see empty plates in front of both gunslingers. 

"So, what have you got so far?" he asked.

Buck looked up from the notepad he'd been writing on. "So far we've only talked to the two managers, and they've given us, as best they can, a list of everyone's movements. The hotel manager also spoke to all the bellhops and waiters for confirmation." He tapped the pad, and slid it across to the tracker. Vin glanced at it, then looked up.

"Why don't you just tell me, rather than making me try and make sense of these chicken scratchings?" he suggested, a smile on his lips. Buck sneered at the slight, a retort ready on his lips, but Chris laid a hand on his arm. He didn't feel like listening to them spar this morning.

"From what we've gathered, Charlie Weller only left the hotel twice yesterday. Once in the early afternoon, for some purpose we don't know, and then once after dinner. No one saw him return. As Sykes was by his desk most of the night, Weller must've used the back stairs coming back in," the black-clad gunslinger began. "BB Weller left once only, around noon, when she went to see Nathan. That I know because I saw her go."

Vin shifted in his seat, "I, uh, know where Weller went in the afternoon." He looked up, and then just as quickly looked away. "He met Ezra in the alley between the hotel and the merc. And, I'm not sure, but he may have met Ezra again sometime after dinner." He shrugged, indicating that he had been in the saloon with the rest of them at that time. Chris watched him for a moment, then tilted his head.

"You know why?"

"Yep. But I think you should ask Ezra that." 

Buck frowned, not liking the off hand way in which Vin was talking about their friend. He glanced at Chris, and saw that his old friend didn't look too surprised at the news. He frowned even more deeply.

"Whatever the why of it, I'm sure Ez had a good reason." The ladies man asserted. The other two looked at him, but didn't respond. 

"Anyway," Chris continued, "the other two couples who arrived with them, the Miltons and the Streets, went out a bit yesterday, but mostly stayed in their rooms. At the time Weller was supposedly killed, they were apparently asleep. One of the bellhops says he brought them each nightcaps around ten o'clock." 

"That just leaves our boys," Vin said, pretending to be reading the pad to avoid looking Chris and Buck in the eye.

"Ezra arrived in the hotel some time after dinner, and went to sit in the parlour. He left at some point, but Sykes missed him leaving, meaning it must have been at a time when Sykes was away from the desk. Sykes also doesn't know when he returned – said he was surprised when Ezra appeared from out the parlour when BB screamed."

"And Nathan?"

"Nathan arrived in the hotel around eight. He went upstairs to see BB…. Sykes said he seemed very drunk. He came down about an hour later and left. Then he returned a few minutes later with his black medical bag, went upstairs, stayed approximately five minutes, then left again."

"Couldn't have gotten very far. He got here before the rest of us when BB screamed, including Vin who was on patrol," Buck noted.

"Is that everyone?" Vin asked. "What about the Weathers? You must have brought them here for a reason?"

"I did. Mrs. Potter told me that they and the Miltons had an argument yesterday, and it concerned Weller. When JD talked to her last night, saying he was looking for strangers, she told him that she thought someone had been to see Carl and Sarah last night, maybe around ten. She didn't see who, just heard them going up and down the back stairs. Said she also heard arguing, but was so tired from the long day, she didn't hear what was said. Besides, Carl and Sarah live two floors up, and Mrs. Potter was on the ground floor with the children. Man, Vin, you should have seen the way she stood when I asked her if she eavesdropped. She looked at me like I'd just asked if she'd committed one of the seven deadly sins." The gunslinger cracked his first smile since yesterday; it was brief, but a smile nonetheless. He shrugged, "In any case, I brought the Weathers here because it all seemed a bit too coincidental."

"Hmm," Buck had picked up his fork, and was tapping it against the table. "Then I guess we'd best ask everyone what they have to say for themselves. Nathan should have had enough time to wake up and go and alert BB by now. Why don't you go see."

The tracker nodded, and left the table. A waitress wandered up and took away the dishes, flashing a smile at the ladies man. Buck grinned back, but it fell as soon as she left. He looked at Chris.

"A lot of suspects, huh," he noted, watching his old friend out of the corner of his eye as he continued to play with the fork, "Mrs. Weller, the two couples, Carl and Sarah….Nathan and Ezra."

"Yup," came the non-committal reply.

Buck threw the fork down, "Oh come on, Chris! You know our boys didn't do it! Damn it, tell me you know that!" 

Chris looked at Buck, the coldness in his manner clear, "Are you sure they're not capable?"

Buck's blue eyes widened, and he gritted his teeth. "Just tell me one thing, Chris, If it were me in that parlour, or Vin, would you be so quick to assume the worst?"

Chris looked Buck straight in the eye, "And if it were me?"

Buck shook his head, and looked out the window, at the brightness streaming between the heavy curtains. "If you have to ask that, Chris, then I guess I have my answer." Slowly, Buck got to his feet and stepped away from the table to the window. 

Chris looked down at the table, and shut his eyes. It would be a long day. The sound of someone clearing their throat made him look up to the doorway. Nathan stood there, holding tight to BB Weller's hand. 

"Ready?" Nathan asked.

____________________________

Boston Bound Weller held tightly to the locket at her throat, and swallowed harshly. Her eyes remained unfocused where they stared at the tablecloth, the sounds around her becoming muffled as if she were underwater. A tap from Buck woke her enough to look around, but nothing about this moment seemed real. Chris repeated his question, and she blinked.

"Nathan," she said, wiping a tear from her face with the back of a shaking hand, "I love Nathan. From the moment I met him, I wanted to just be with him. But I couldn't then. There was the war, and the railroad, and so much else. Love may be…important, but it is nothing compared to what is important to our people. Nothing when compared to what matters. I made my choice when I left Nathan the first time."

"And now?"

"Now? Now, I don't know. I married Charlie because he was so alive, and I felt nearly dead. He was so powerful and free – everything I craved. I know that I did not love him, but, for all those years after the war before we came here, he was the world to me…the world and everything it can promise. I don't know what I'm going to do without him." The tears fell more freely now, and Buck gave her his handkerchief. She accepted it gratefully, holding it to her face, willing herself to find the strength that she used to own in so much abundance. She shook as she realized that she couldn't remember the last time she felt that strength.

"Why did Charlie hit you?" Chris asked, gently drawing the handkerchief away from her face to better see the bruises. 

"He…He…I'm not sure. It is not the first time. I don't know if it was because of Nathan, or because of the southerner, but he was so angry when he came to bed the first night we were here. I don't even try and duck anymore."

Buck stared out into the lobby, unable to keep the thought that he was glad Weller was dead out of his mind. Chris just nodded, and wrote a few more things down on the little notepad. When he looked up, his face was amazingly calm.

"Can you tell me what happened yesterday?"

BB nodded, "I went to see Nathan in the morning, to tell him…that I wouldn't be able to see him again. Then I went back to my room. Charlie was there, pacing nervously. He barely acknowledged my presence. When the clock struck noon, he left." She shrugged, she had no idea where he had gone or why. 

"He came back some time later, and locked himself in the bedroom for the rest of the day. At six or so, he went down to dinner. I told him I wasn't feeling well, partly because of…" she brushed a hand across her still ugly bruises, and the two men questioning her nodded. "He came back around seven thirty or so, grabbed his coat, and walked out the door. I didn't see him again until…" She shivered.

"What else happened last night?" 

BB looked up, her eyes focusing on Chris for an instant, then she looked down again. "Nathan came to see me." 

"Keep going."

"It was…maybe an hour after Charlie left. Nathan had been drinking. He wanted me to run away with him," she sniffed, and smiled. "But I couldn't. I was…afraid. And Charlie had my word." She shrugged. "Nathan stayed for an hour, at the end of which, I suppose the alcohol had loosed its grip. I was so distraught, and he suggested I get some sleep. I told him I didn't think I would sleep well, not with everything that was happening. So he left, and then returned with some sleeping powder. He told me to mix it with some water, and then I would sleep better. When he left this time, I did as he told me. I think that may be why I never heard Charlie return. Or, whoever killed him." She sniffed again, and used the handkerchief to wipe her face.

"After that, I guess I must have woken. I was so thirsty – a side effect of the powder, I guess – so I went to get some water from the pitcher on the table in the outer room." She paused, and glanced at the faces around her. Buck and Chris sat at the table, neither man looking at her. Vin sat by the window, his elbow resting on the sill, staring at the outside. "The rest, you know," she finished.

"Yes," Chris said, looking up from his notepad. "Thank you, Mrs. Weller. Could you send in Nathan next?"

BB nodded, and stood. All three lawmen stood with her, and she smiled slightly at the chivalry. With low shoulders and a bowed head, she left the room.

____________________________

Unlike BB, Nathan stared his inquisitors straight in the eye, almost daring them to disagree with anything he said. He'd already told them how he and BB met, and about the meeting this afternoon. Now they asked if he could confirm what Boston had told them about the evening.

"The bruises on her face were hurting her, giving her a headache, not surprisingly. And, I have to admit, my presence obviously wasn't helping," he said, a little contritely. "When I realized that she would never leave him, I understood that I had lost her. She may have loved me once, and maybe still does to a degree, but the Boston Bound I knew died in the war. In the past." He took a deep breath, and watched their reactions. Buck and Vin both looked sympathetic, probably both knowing well what it was like to know someone once and have them be a different person years later, but Chris's face was cool. All he did was take notes on that colorless pad.

"So you brought her some sleeping powder?" Chris asked.

"Yes. I showed her how much to use, and then gave it to her."

"And then she drank it?"

"I mixed it myself, Chris."

"That is not what I asked."

"I…yes, I saw her drink it," Nathan frowned, unhappy with the questioning. Chris simply sighed.

"And what did you do afterwards?"

For the first time, Nathan appeared uncomfortable. "I went for a walk."

Chris looked up, and glanced at Vin before looking back at the healer. "A walk? For how long? And did anyone see you?"

Nathan shook his head. "No. I knew Vin was around somewhere, but I wanted to be alone for a while, you know? So I went out into the meadows, and made it all the way to that big rock that lies above the fishing hole on the river. I stayed there until the clock stuck midnight, then I walked back. I guess I must be a glutton for punishment, because I walked up to the hotel before going home. I couldn't have been standing there for more than a few minutes when I heard BB scream." He shrugged. "I had a fire going out by the fishing hole. Fire pit should still be there, and probably still warm. I know that won't mean much as proof goes, but…"

"Don't worry about it Nathan. We believe you." Buck said, his voice firm. Over by the window, Vin nodded. Nathan relaxed a bit under their assurances, though he was keenly aware when Chris didn't echo the sentiment. The man in black just kept scratching away at that notepad with his pencil.

"I think that's everything, Nathan," Vin said, standing. "Could you send in Carl and Sarah next?" 

The healer nodded, and turned to leave. He stopped when he reached the door. "I don't know who did this, Chris, but, for all that BB may be a different person now, I know she didn't kill her husband. Besides not having it in her to murder anyone, she worshipped Weller, for all the good it did her. And then there was the sleeping powder. It would have knocked her out for hours, Chris. She would have been well under its spell when Charlie was killed." He waited a moment, for Chris to acknowledge him. Finally, the gunslinger looked up, and nodded. Nathan sighed, and took hold of the door handle.

"Oh wait, Nathan. Did you ever figure out what it was about that blood that seemed odd to you?" Chris queried, his voice cool.

Nathan stopped, and looked again into those steel eyes, as if searching for something. "No," he said at last. Chris nodded, and Nathan left. Chris scribbled some more on his notepad.

"Buck, could you go and get Silace for me?"

____________________________

Ezra entered the room slowly, turning and shutting the door behind him with a deliberateness he usually only showed when he was holding a gun. He hadn't any weapons on him now, not because he was told not to carry them, but because he was showing them that he didn't need them. He stood by the door, his hands behind his back, waiting to be summoned to the table. 

From the window, Vin glanced at him, then looked away. He watched the busy street, aware that people were more mobile now that the snow was mostly gone. The sun beat down unmercifully, taking it all away.

At the table, Chris tapped his pencil on the pad and eyed the gambler. When it was clear Ezra wasn't going to come forward without some prompting, he sighed.

"I'm not in the mood to yell across the room, Ezra," he said quietly. Ezra pursed his lips, then moved stiffly over to the table, every step looking as if it was causing him pain. By the time he sat down, Vin was wincing.

"Well," Ezra said, "this is certainly interesting. I thought I was to have three judges, has Buck left me to the wolves?" 

Vin winced again, but Chris didn't flinch. Instead, the gunslinger simply shook his head.

"Hardly judges, Ezra. We're just trying to figure out what happened."

"Buck went to fetch Silace," Vin added quietly.

At that same moment, Buck burst through the door with an unhappy looking Silace in tow. Of course, Silace rarely looked happy, but he seemed even more perturbed this morning.

"Excuse me a minute, Ezra," Chris said, standing up. He joined the two by the door, and Chris asked some hushed questions. After a minute, Silace answered him, paused, then nodded and left. Buck and Chris returned to the table. Ezra furrowed his brow, but waited until they sat down.

"So what do you want to know?" Ezra asked, refusing to wait any longer.

"Everything. How you know Charlie Weller, everything that happened last night, how the knife Vin saw you with ended up in Weller's body…." Chris's voice was a monotone, and the gambler tensed his jaw. He glanced at Vin when Chris mentioned the knife, understanding now the black look from last night. 

Leaning back in his chair, the gambler steepled his fingers and prepared himself. He hated talking about his past, they all did, but, as Ezra reminded himself, the past is not the present. He just hoped that his friends, if that was indeed what they were, would know that who he was then was not who he was now. He sighed at the uselessness of the thought.

"Alright….You may have had occasion to learn that my mother and I once possessed a riverboat casino on the Mississippi," he began.

"The _Bella Donna_?" Vin remembered.

"No…well, yes, we owned her too, but the boat to which I refer was the _Mississippi Glory_." He smiled, his mind drifting over her stately bow and white terraced sides. He'd never seen her equal.

"She was probably one of the most beautiful steamers on the river, and, without question, one of the wealthiest. My mother and I worked one of the most expensive cons we've ever run to claim her, but she gave all that back, and more. For the three years that we ran her up and down the river, she was home. The first I'd ever known in my twelve years of my life. It was also the longest period of time I've ever spent with my mother…" He stopped, and looked up, realizing he had drifted. The three men watching him sat quietly, not wanting to break his mood. With a sharp intake of breath, he straightened up in his seat and resumed his story.

"Because she was a casino ship, you might say that the _Mississippi Glory_ ran somewhat under the radar of the local law enforcement. Consequently, we had several side businesses going on besides gambling, including some cargo shipping, a tourist trade, and some others. The only one that never made us any money was the fact that we, uh, we took some passengers…some railroad passengers." He paused, pursing his lips, his expression caught between pride, ambivalence and embarrassment.

"Railroad?" Chris raised an eyebrow, already knowing the answer. Where he grew up in Illinois he'd been more than aware of the "railroad passengers" heading North to Canada via the lakes. His mother had let some stay in the house occasionally. Buck and Vin, however, looked unsure.

"The, uh, underground railroad," Ezra specified, looking down, knowing that this would surprise the others and not wanting to see their reactions. Buck actually lost control of the fork he'd been playing with, and it flipped upward to arc in a silvery circle before falling to the floor. He apologized quietly as he bent to retrieve it. Vin was simply watching Ezra like a hawk now, while Chris frowned. Ezra sighed, some arrogance slipping into his tone now that the fact was out. He sounded bored as he continued.

"Now, I was never particularly fond of the business myself, but mother…well, you may have figured out by now that she has never been one for the status quo." He shrugged, his eyes focused on his fingers. "Mother despised slavery. She used to say it was bad for the economy, all that free labor messing with the laws of healthy competition. Besides, no one should ever own another person. That's also why she hates marriage so much…least the ones that she's been in." He was smiling now, warming to his topic. 

"But the reality of it is, my mother simply does not understand racism. She thinks anyone who judges people by how they look is a fool. She'd gotten enough of that herself growing up, though, of course, she learned how to make a profit from it." He snorted a little, and looked up.

"So we ran slaves up the river, stowed in the hold. Usually only about ten at a time, trapped in a little room near the boilers, behind a hidden door that only I and my mother knew about. I had the onerous task of bringing them food and drink, and, in the middle of the night, I allowed them out to walk a bit about the ship. 'Course I never spoke to them," he looked up at the chandelier. "I regret much of my treatment of them now. I was never mean, you understand, but I…I did ignore them. For some reason, I couldn't ever look any of them in the eye." He shook his head, and shut his eyes. When he opened them again, they were back in the present. He looked directly at Chris.

"The contact for our part in the railroad, the conductor in charge, was Charlie Weller."

This time, when Buck dropped the fork, he didn't bother to pick it up. Ezra smiled crookedly at him. Vin got up from his chair by the window and joined them at the table, resting his elbow on the table cloth and cupping his chin in his hand. For his part, Chris just kept writing on his pad. He looked up after a moment and nodded to Ezra to continue.

"As far as I know, Charlie worked out of Saint Louis. He paid us out of the money from the various Vigilance Committees that existed there and across the river in Illinois. He gave us times and places and names, and we followed his directions. We generally picked people up near Memphis and, for about a month, carried them until we reached Saint Louis. During the night after we'd docked in Missouri, a boat would silently make its way across from Illinois, hook up with us, and we passed the fugitives on to them to be taken to freedom. I never learned what happened to any of them once they left the ship."

"When was this?" Vin asked.

"The late fifties, a few years before the war broke out. The _Mississippi Glory _was but a memory when South Carolina seceded."

"So what happened?"

"Let's just say that Charlie Weller was not the saint his wife believed him to be," Ezra snarled, unable to help himself. "At some point in our second year, my mother became aware that the amount of money Charlie paid us was less than what the Vigilance Committees were giving him to pay us. He was skimming money for himself. Had been all along. She considered doing something, and, indeed, I told her she should, but, for some reason, she never did. At least, if she did, she never told me about it," he shrugged. "Then, in the third year, while walking around Saint Louis, I happened to come across a market." His lips curled into a sneer, recalling all those faces. 

"I was just going to pass by, when I recognized the face of one of the girls being auctioned. It was the same face that I'd handed over to Charlie Weller the day before." He shook a little, the anger he'd felt then boiling up again. "I tried to buy her, but I had nowhere near enough money. Afterwards, I sought out the man who ran the market and asked him where he'd gotten the girl. Since I was barely fourteen at the time, he simply laughed at me, and told me not to be worried about such things as the darkies. Said that even their own kind were selling themselves out." He frowned again, his eyes narrowing. 

"When I told my mother this, she told me I must have misunderstood. And, for the longest time, I let it go. After all, I figured, what did I care, so long as Weller continued to pay us? Besides, other than that off hand comment, I had no proof…until Sarah and Carl came on board."

"Our Sarah and Carl?" Buck queried.

Ezra nodded. "Although, at the time, they were Sarah and Carl Weller."

Chris raised his hand to stop Ezra, and looked at Buck. "Go get them."

_____________________________ 

Sarah gripped Carl's hand in both of hers as they entered the room. They glanced across at the gambler, and Ezra nodded at them. Carl nodded back while Sarah looked at the floor. She appeared to be shivering a little, and Buck got up to offer her his coat. Carl held his hand up to stop him, his face stony. The ladies man shrugged and sat back down.

"Carl, Sarah, please join us," Chris said, indicating the empty chairs that had been brought up to the table. For some reason, Carl looked at Ezra before coming over. The gambler slumped his shoulders slightly and looked away. Carl sighed, then, half dragging a clearly lost looking Sarah behind him, moved to join them at the table. 

"Your last name was Weller," Chris stated, earning a flinch from the black man. Sarah moaned slightly, and looked accusingly at the gambler. From out of somewhere, Ezra had pulled a pack of cards and was casually shuffling them to avoid her gaze.

"Yes," Carl noted, "but we weren't related to Charlie. We just happened to be sold by the same person – Captain Terrance Weller. So, our title papers had Weller as our last name. When the war was over, we changed it to Weathers." 

"And, you and Charlie Weller came from the same farm?"

"Ranch, not farm. On the border of Louisiana and Texas somewhere. Big for what it was, had more n' fifty slaves did our master. His name was Carson. Ugly bastard."

"Most were," Ezra agreed, slapping a card into the deck. Chris ignored him. 

"Keep going." The gunslinger prompted.

"Well, Charlie was always the one in charge of us, like he was our leader or something. He tried to get us to revolt after that big rebellion in South Carolina, but most of us had heard about what the state did afterwards – expelling abolitionists and making harsher laws for us slaves. We didn't want to risk it. But he was always kinda heroic to us, Charlie was, with all his talking and preaching. When he run off, it was a real blow for everyone. Well, everyone 'cept Sarah." He looked at his wife, and she leaned into his arm, burying her head slightly. 

"Go on, Sarah, tell them," he urged.

"I can't," she whispered, "I'm sorry." 

Carl grimaced, but his face wasn't surprised. "Well, I ain't afraid. Charlie used to chase Sarah all around like she was his. She put up with it for a while, cause everyone told her that he was the best man for her, but by then…well, she was already in love with me." He grinned briefly, proudly, then it faded. "Course, its not like we were allowed to get married, or anything, and none of the others really supported us when Sarah tried to tell Charlie." He shrugged. "Well, in the end it didn't matter, cause he run soon after that, and we never thought we'd see him again." He sighed.

"A few years later, he came back. He was a conductor, and he came to help steal some of us away, those who were brave enough to go. He got Lacey and Wallace out first, them being old. Then he got out some others, about a year later. By this time, the war was on the horizon, and we all knew it. But me and Sarah wanted to take our chances anyway. Sarah was pregnant then, and we didn't want the baby taken from us. Charlie promised us safe passage, said he was still in love with Sarah. Said he would never do anything to hurt her, even if it meant putting up with me." Carl snorted, but didn't stop. "In the end, it wasn't he who came to get us, but it didn't matter. And when we got on the _Glory_, we thought we were free." He looked at Ezra, who hadn't bothered to add anything. "It was a beautiful ship, Mr. Standish."

"Yes, it was," Sarah agreed. Ezra simply nodded, not looking up from his cards.

"For that whole month in that hold, we were hidden. Only Mr. Standish, coming with food, broke the monotony. Then the night we were supposed to dock in Saint Louis, he brought us new clothes and we all bathed in the bath he brought us."

"Damn, Ez, you were a clothes freak even as a kid," Buck giggled.

"Your ignorance amazes me sometimes, Mr. Wilmington." Ezra chastised, earning him a frown from the ladies man. 

Carl shrugged, "New clothes were part of the journey. The tattered clothes we lived in would have given us away immediately, and with the strengthening of the Fugitive Slave Act…Well anyway, he needn't have bothered."

"They raided the ship the day we docked. All those Marshals," Sarah shivered, and Ezra paused his shuffling. The gambler sighed heavily, and looked at Chris.

"The Marshals were there when we arrived," Ezra said. "No warning. They boarded the _Mississippi Glory_, and destroyed her. They hacked through walls looking for the hidden room, and, one of them, I don't know which, 'accidentally' dropped his cigar in the laundry room. She went up like a tinderbox. Of course we had to get you and the others out of that little room…" He looked at Sarah, his face sad. She had her eyes closed.

"Right into the arms of the Sheriff, one of Carson's foremen, and a handful of his ranch hands," Carl noted darkly. 

"The _Mississippi Glory_ went down in flames, and my mother and I were arrested for harboring fugitives. Insurance didn't kick in because we were felons, so we lost everything 'cept the clothes we were wearing. We escaped during the night, with the help of some of the Vigilance Committee, and went west. Mother took me to San Francisco, and dropped me off. She said it would be safer for us to be apart for a while…." He trailed off, and started playing with his cards again. 

"When I found her again, many years later after the war, she told me that it had been Charlie Weller who sold us out. I swore I'd have nothing to do with black people ever again." He snapped the cards in his fingers and snorted. "So much for that idea." He muttered, thinking of Nathan.

"Well, we found out about Charlie the night we were caught," Carl spat. Sarah shivered a little more, and he put his arm around her to draw her closer. "Me and Sarah were separated, which didn't make sense since we came from the same place, until I saw Charlie. Carson's foreman was paying him money…for me and the others who'd been in the hold, even though half of 'em hadn't even been Carson's slaves before hand. I knew then he had taken Sarah for himself."

"Bastard tried to keep me, but I got away from him," Sarah agreed angrily into Carl's sleeve. "Thing is, I was lost in Missouri. Didn't take long 'fore I was captured and taken to a small farm run by a family called Weathers, so I became Sarah Weathers." She blinked slightly, and wiped a hand across her face, her movements tired. "They were poor folks, not mean or anything. Didn't hit me. 'Course, they sold my baby away." She closed her eyes, her voice dull. "After the war was over, I went back to Saint Louis. Looking for Carl and trying to find my son. I remembered the names of some of the abolitionists there. They helped. But it still took years…."

"But we're here now, love," Carl whispered into her hair, kissing the top of her head. No one spoke for a while, even Chris had stopped his writing. The only sound was that of Ezra's cards as he shuffled them back and forth. Buck shifted in his seat.

"Thank you, folks," the ladies man said, reaching forward to pat Sarah on her arm. Carl glared at him. Buck pulled back and focused at some point on the table. Ezra sprayed the cards into one hand and looked up.

"Next, I would surmise that you will need to know our movements yesterday?" the gambler said.

"If you would be so kind," Chris replied snidely. He started writing again on his pad. Ezra glared at him and exhaled loudly.

"Well, as I am sure Mr. Tanner here has told you, I attempted to use my knowledge of these events to extort money from Mr. Weller."

Buck's gasp, and Chris's surprised look quickly informed Ezra of his error. The gambler recovered quickly, however, and his poker face slid into place, although his words spilled out a little faster than they had been before.

"I recognized Mr. Weller the day he arrived. Despite all he'd done, I was planning on ignoring him. But then Mr. Jackson…well, let's just say he brings out the worst in me," he grimaced, but didn't stop talking. "That night, after our resident healer haplessly 'introduced' me to Mr. Weller, I took advantage of the moment. I stole into the back of the hotel and made a proposition to the man -- my silence in return for thirty percent of his share of the ranch. Since the money he used to pay for it came partly from my own labor, I estimated that he owed me at least that much. I gave him the night to think about it." He paused, and looked over at Vin.

"The next day I met Mr. Weller in the alleyway between the Potter's mercantile and the hotel, in order to ascertain his answer -- a private conversation that Mr. Tanner obviously overheard. The man threatened me, and I took his knife. I told him I would find him later, contracts in hand to settle the deal. However," he paused, and licked his lips, his green eyes still on Vin, "when I reached the hotel that night, I was no longer as keen to complete the transaction."

"I sat in the parlour for almost an hour, though I knew that Mr. Weller was waiting for me, and, in the end, I threw the contracts into the fire. I then proceeded to go upstairs to tell Mr. Weller that I was no longer interested, but stopped when I saw Nathan going up the stairs." Pausing, he started to spin the seven of clubs around the deck. 

"I waited until he left, then went up and knocked on the door. Mrs. Weller answered it quickly, probably expecting Mr. Jackson, whom, from what I've been told, returned later on. She told me that her husband had gone for a walk via the back door two hours before, and did not know when he would return. As she was obviously distraught over something, I simply gave her the knife and left, leaving by the back stairs in order that I might find a way to follow Weller. I assume Mr. Jackson returned with his sleeping powder soon after I left."

Chris frowned as he looked at his pad, and underlined something. Buck leaned over to see what it was, but Vin only had eyes for Ezra. In the background, curiosity filling them, Sarah and Carl also hung on the gambler's every word. Ezra was so intent on spinning the card, and then the one underneath it (the jack of clubs) that he barely noticed.

"What I saw frightened me. As I came out the door, I saw Mr. Weller going up the fire escape on the back of the mercantile, obviously aiming for the Weathers' abode. I swear," he looked up at the black couple, "I did not tell him you were here."

"We reckoned as much," Carl said. "Hell, until you came bursting in on us, I didn't even think you remembered who we were. No, Charlie told us it was Wallace Milton what gave us away."

Ezra looked relieved, and sunk back in his seat. Carl looked at Chris.

"Charlie was drunk, Mr. Larabee, real drunk," Carl said, taking over from Ezra. "Course, I wasn't much better. When Mr. Standish came, he found me and Charlie arguing like there weren't no tomorrow. It didn't take long for it to turn into a brawl, especially when Charlie tried to claim Sarah was his. God, I wanted him dead so bad, I was ready to throw him out the window. I even opened it up so that I wouldn't break the glass." He smiled wickedly, his white teeth biting at a piece of his bottom lip. 

"If it weren't for Sarah and Mr. Standish, I might've done it too. But I didn't. Mr. Standish asked me if it was worth it to kill Weller, asked if I was willing to give Sarah up again just to beat the bastard," he shook his head slowly, and Sarah kept her eyes shut. "In the end, Mr. Standish led him out by gunpoint. He was alive, Mr. Larabee. I didn't kill him." He said the last few words vehemently, emphasizing them with a fist to the table that jarred the glasses of water sitting there. 

"So, Ez, what did you do with him?" Buck asked, looking back at the Southerner. Ezra tilted his head.

"I merely took the man back to his suite, Mr. Wilmington, using the same back stairs by which we left. I believe the time to have been around ten thirty or so, and I left him in his ante room alive and well, if a bit chagrined. At the door, I told him that I would not force him to give me a piece of his fortune, so long as he promised to never defile our fair town again with his presence. He appeared to accept this. Nevertheless, I was still apprehensive that he might try again to harm the Weathers, so I went down to the parlour, planning on spending the night there with my ears open." He frowned then, his brow furrowing in confusion. He flipped over the top card on the deck to reveal the suicide king.

"I assumed, obviously erroneously, that I would be able to hear if Mr. Weller or anyone else entered or exited that room. While I did not fall asleep or otherwise lose my concentration, I must admit I was completely shocked when Mrs. Weller started to scream. I have no idea how he died, or who murdered him." He placed the cards into the pocket of his waistcoat and stood.

"Now, if there is nothing else, Mr. Larabee, Mr. Tanner and Mr. Wilmington, I plan on going and taking a bath. I fear that this episode has truly ruined both my appearance as well as my clothes. And, before you say it Mr. Larabee, I will return to this place after I have finished." He pulled his waistcoat down, adjusted his cravat, and walked to the door. The entire time he kept expecting to hear them call him back, or for Chris to place him in shackles, but neither happened. Instead, he got through the door unscathed, visibly sighing with relief as he shut it behind him. 

When he looked up, he found Josiah and Nathan watching him from the entrance to the parlour.

"You okay?" The preacher asked. Ezra watched him for a moment, his face awash with all the emotions he'd held on to throughout the interview. Then, as if the question had never been asked, he walked to the front doors and out into the cold winter day. Josiah tensed his jaw and looked over at where JD was sitting at the hotel desk. JD dropped his head in his hands. 

Still in the room, Carl and Sarah watched impatiently as Chris wrote. Vin was pacing, and Buck was watching him. When Chris looked up, everything stopped. He looked at the black couple.

"Thank you. You can go home now. However, if you could return this evening, say around six o'clock, I think we will be able to finish this." 

Carl looked at Sarah, who had opened her eyes. She was staring at him, and nodded slowly. Carl raised an eyebrow at her, than looked back at Chris. 

"Mr. Standish didn't kill Charlie, Mr. Larabee." Carl vowed. "He may not like our kind much, but he's no killer. He don't got it in him."

______________________________

The Miltons and the Streets were definitely unhelpful, both couples insisting that they were asleep at the time that Charlie was killed. Having nothing with which to gainsay them, Chris let them to leave. They also questioned all the other guests in the hotel, but, as expected, no one had seen or heard anything. They were either out at the saloon, or asleep. With a sigh, the black-clad gunslinger placed his pad on the table, and looked at his fellow peacekeepers.

Buck had flipped open his pocket watch, while Vin measured the darkening sky. It was almost six o'clock, when Chris promised everyone he would disclose their findings. 

"So, what do you think?" Buck asked, leaning forward. 

"Funny how the best two suspects are two of our own men. Neither have solid alibis, and both have strong motives." Vin sighed.

"Love and revenge," Chris nodded. "But not everything we've heard today adds up, boys."

"Oh?" Vin arched an eyebrow, and Buck half smiled. 

"You got something Chris?" the ladies man asked.

"Maybe. But it ain't gonna be pretty."

Vin looked at the mud colored slush outside, and watched as a couple of wagons from outlying ranches rolled in for supplies. The crowds seemed subdued, and more than one person glanced over at the dark hotel with trepidation. He caught Mary and Inez speaking together over by the saloon entrance, and saw Inez's fierce head shake as Mary reached out to touch her. The manageress threw down the broom she's been holding and stalked inside. Mary looked to the hotel, then turned away, lifting her skirts slightly to avoid the muddy street as she stepped off the boardwalk to go home.

"There ain't nothing but mud out there, Chris. May as well put it to some use." 

__

Concluded in Part Four


	4. Part Four

Title: The Story of Boston Bound, part 4 of 4

Author: Tipper

Disclaimer: See part one.

The Story of Boston Bound

Part Four

As requested, everyone gathered into the hotel's parlour, and the hotel manager shut the double doors to prevent eavesdroppers. The night manager, Sykes, sat in a corner in a red antique chair as representative of the hotel. His dark eyes surveyed the room slowly, drinking in the tableau with the air of a man apart. Wiping a bead of sweat from his temple, he ignored the growing heat in the room as he prepared to watch the scene unfold, feeling a bit like a voyeur. 

Everyone had arranged themselves into groups. By the fire, BB sat in one of the large armchairs, with Nathan standing over her, his hands resting on her shoulders. Lacey and Wallace Milton took up position on the other side of them, with Lacey in the opposite arm chair. Standing nearby, but clearly off to one side, were the Streets. All together, they seemed to form one little enclave of support, and the glow of the fire between them embraced them as a whole.

Off to the side, Carl and Sarah Weathers sat on the couch under one of the two street facing windows, cast in the shadow of the arm chair that Lacey sat in. Ezra stood by the other window, leaning unconcernedly against the frame, watching the lights being lit in the saloon across the way. In some ways, he appeared to stand with the couple, but it was also clear that he was intentionally separating himself from them and from the rest of the room.

Of the lawmen, Josiah had made an effort to stand halfway between Nathan and Ezra, his hands behind his back, his head to the ground, and JD sat next to him in a hard backed chair, his chin resting on one hand. Buck and Vin each flanked the closed double doors, while Chris stood in front of them in the room's center, his hands behind his back. Slowly, he brought his hands forward, and the clank of the shackles he held in one hand instantly got everyone's attention. He placed them down on the coffee table.

"Thank you for coming," he intoned quietly. "You're here because we know who killed Charlie Weller, and we want you to understand how we came to that conclusion. That way we can avoid any confusion or nay-saying." He paused and looked behind him to Buck. The ladies man stepped forward and handed him the pad. The black-clad gunslinger thanked him, and flipped open some pages, ignoring the restlessness of his captives. When he looked up again, his eyes appeared even darker against his ruddy skin. "As you may have figured out from the cuffs, the murderer is one of you."

The ripple of fear that drifted through the people gathered was ignored by the peacekeepers, and Chris returned his gaze to his pad. Vin stepped forward, his thumbs hooked in his gunbelt, and prepared to speak.

"Because of all the snow and mud, its pretty easy to see who had come and gone since the murder. I was on patrol around the time the murder occurred, and, in the time it took me to do one circuit, there were no new discernable tracks leading from the back of the hotel. Therefore, whoever committed the murder probably remained in the building, or took a path already worn through." Finished, Vin nodded to Buck, who stepped up next to him.

"There are four possible suspects," the ladies man said, leaning over the back of an empty chair and resting one foot on a supporting leg. "Carl Weathers, Nathan Jackson, BB Weller, and Ezra Standish. Each had strong motive to kill Weller, motives which any of use could sympathize with…." he paused as another ripple went through the gathering, and everyone glanced at the four. Only Ezra didn't react, his eyes still trained on the glowing saloon like a lighthouse beacon.

"Carl Weathers was an obvious first choice, once we learned that Weller not only coveted his wife, but was the man responsible for their capture after a failed run…and for the loss of their only child," Buck continued. Lacey stood up straight in her chair, her eyes wide as she sought out the couple on the divan. Twisting around to see them behind her, the disbelief was clear on her face, but the Weathers were not interested in her. Carl had his head in his hands as Sarah hugged his back, her clear brown eyes focused intently on the ladies man. 

"What are you saying?" BB hissed from her chair by the fire, her eyes shining. Buck sighed.

"Now, I don't like speaking ill of the dead, but in this case, we have a corroborating witness. I'm sorry, Mrs. Weller, but your husband was a double dealer. He sold back some of the slaves he liberated, and he attempted to steal Miss Sarah for himself." He looked at the old black couple, his lips pressed in a thin line. "Mr. and Mrs. Milton, can you deny that Weller was in love with Sarah?" 

Lacey looked up at her husband, but Wallace looked away. When she looked back, her expression made her seem even older than her sixty years, and her slow head shake spoke volumes to the young woman sitting opposite her. With an anguished cry, BB put her head in her hands, and Nathan rubbed her shoulders.

"Now, we know that Carl threatened Weller the night he was murdered, but we also know that Weller was murdered in his hotel room, not in Carl and Sarah's apartment. In order for Carl to have murdered Weller, he would have had to leave his apartment sometime after Weller was escorted back to the hotel by Ezra Standish." He looked to the Weathers, seeing Sarah watching him carefully. "Luckily for the Weathers, Mrs. Potter was still awake down below. While she could not hear the argument going on two floors up, she could hear the stairs. After Weller and Ezra left, she claims no one else came down those stairs again before she fell asleep around midnight. Thus, Carl, we know it was not you."

Carl's head shot up, the relief in them obvious, and Sarah grinned through her tears. Buck tipped his hat to them and backed up to lean once more against the wall. In his place, Vin stepped forward and leaned heavily on one leg. 

"Nathan," the tracker stated, calling the healer's attention away from the still crushed BB. Straightening, Nathan crossed his arms and stared back.

"According to what you and BB have told us, you left her hotel room sometime just after ten, after giving BB a sleeping powder. Then you said you went for a walk."

Nathan nodded, and Vin sighed. "Well, I went out to the fishing hole and found the fire pit this morning, still warm from your visit. I estimate it woulda taken you close to half an hour to walk out there, though it might of taken you longer since it was night, and, from the looks of the footprints I found, you walked in a sort of meandering fashion. Thus, you couldn't have gone out there and come back in time to kill Charlie at eleven." He frowned, then looked at the carpet as he scuffed his free foot over it. 

"But, you could have killed him before you went out. Even moving slowly, you had enough time to wait for Ezra to bring Charlie back to the hotel at 10:30, kill him, then go for your walk. Plus, we all know your skill with a knife -- you would have known how to kill him quickly and without him ever making a sound."

"But I didn't…" Nathan said. 

"Please, Nate," Vin asked, putting a hand up, "let me finish." He looked at the others, and licked his lips. "Nathan had a pretty strong motive for wanting Weller dead, as strong as any. He's in love with Weller's wife." Vin raised an eyebrow at the healer, and Nathan looked away. 

"He met Miss Boston when she helped him escape his plantation back when he was still a kid, just before the war. Though they lost track of each other, you'd have to be blind not to see that they still feel for each other." He nodded at BB, who was staring disconsolately at the fire now. "And it couldn't help none for Nate, one of the most moral souls I know, to find out that Weller beat his wife."

"Oh, sweety," Annabel whispered, in a voice of someone who knew and had always felt guilty for her knowledge. BB glanced at her, then back at the fire. Nathan frowned at Vin, but kept his mouth shut.

"But, for all that, we know that, like Carl, Nathan couldn't have committed the murder." He smiled slightly. "Charlie Weller's murder was, to put it mildly, bloody. It would have been impossible for the murderer to escape without getting blood all over his clothes. The snow that marked Nathan's prints was spotless – as white as when it first fell. Any blood would have stuck out as obvious as a…a…"

"As a hailstorm on a sunny day," Buck supplied. Vin nodded at him. 

"So, Nate, you're off the hook."

"Which takes us to Mrs. Weller," Chris stated coldly. Vin nodded.

"Her motives would be the same as Nathan's despite her swearing to us that she placed her husband on a higher pedestal," the tracker noted quietly, looking at the woman in the chair. "Difference is, she was the one being hit. Was Nathan's support and love enough to give her the gumption to face him?"

"Even if it was," Buck said, stepping forward and looking at Nathan, "we know that she couldn't have done this either. For one thing, as Nathan told us, he gave her a sleeping potion and watched as she drank it. Probably put her to bed too, eh Nate?" Buck smiled, and Nathan looked away.

"More to the point, whoever killed him had to be quick and strong, in order to have knifed him without him making a sound or putting up a fight. On her own, a woman like Mrs. Weller would have been unlikely to have been much of a match for Charlie Weller, a man twice her size," Vin said. 

In her chair, BB slumped back slightly in her seat, and Nathan relaxed where he stood over her. He reached to touch her shoulder again, when his hand stopped. It suddenly occurred to him what their absolution meant, and his brown eyes locked on the gambler.

Still by the window, Ezra now had his eyes closed. 

"An efficient process of elimination, gentlemen," he drawled, indicating for the first time that he had been listening. "However, may I suggest that you have somehow overlooked something? Since, under the circumstances, you appear to only have one suspect left…" he turned so that he faced the room, his face calm, "and I did not kill Mr. Weller."

"Sorry, Ezra, but that ain't the way it looks," Buck said, sighing.

"Your motive for his murder was as deep as the others, Ezra," Chris stated gruffly, his voice low, finally taking up the role that Vin and Buck had carried this far. His nearly black eyes remained on the fire lit gambler as he continued to address the room. 

"Our resident gambler here was once, rather reluctantly, a part of Weller's underground railroad. Maude, his mother, owned a casino boat on the Mississippi…"

"Co-owned!" Ezra said angrily, unable to stop himself. "The _Mississippi Glory_ was half mine!"

"The little Spencer boy?" Wallace suddenly said, earning him an incredulous look from Nathan. To say that the healer looked shell-shocked by the revelation that Ezra could ever have been part of the railroad would be an understatement.

"I thought I recognized those eyes," Lacey murmured. "How is your mother, child?"

"Oh, this is just great!" the gambler spat, throwing his hands in the air. He turned back to the window, refusing to look at anyone anymore, crossing his arms in front of him. If the situation hadn't been so serious, Buck would have laughed.

Chris tapped his pad with his hand, stilling the room. Once he was sure he had everyone's attention again, he continued his story. "She was your boat, Ezra, and, from what we can figure, the closest thing you've ever had to a home before coming here. The way you described it to us, we would have been blind not to see how much having that time with your mother meant to you." He paused, taking a deep breath. "Charlie Weller destroyed that when he gave you and your mother up to the authorities in Saint Louis, so that he could have Sarah for himself. You lost your money, your home, your dreams and your freedom, all because of one man. A strong motive for wanting to kill a man."

"Except that I did not kill him," Ezra stated firmly. 

"You were the only one with both the means and the opportunity," Chris stated.

"Opportunity," Ezra shook his head, and looked up at the ceiling, "perhaps, but the means, no. I told you already…I gave the knife back to Mrs. Weller."

"Not according to her. She made no mention of your visit." 

Ezra turned surprised eyes back to the man in black, then to the woman in question. "What?"

"Am I correct, Mrs. Weller?" Chris asked, also turning to look at her. BB watched them both for a moment, her mouth opening and closing. Then she nodded. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Standish," she muttered. "I never saw you…." Above her, Nathan stared at the top of her head, and his hands suddenly gripped the seat. 

"She's lying, Chris!" Ezra stormed, standing up straight. "Damn it, can't you see that? Just look at her face, its as clear as day."

"No, Ezra, I don't." Chris bent over and picked up the shackles. "I'm sorry."

"Chris, are you sure about this?" Josiah asked, moving closer to the gambler as if to shield him. JD looked stunned, and he jumped off the chair to better see Ezra. The gambler swallowed and backed up against the window, debating his chances of running. As he looked from face to face, his eyes caught Nathan still standing by BB, seeing a mask of bewilderment on the healer's normally quiet face.

"Nathan?" Ezra pleaded. For a moment, the gambler thought he had seen something else fighting for control beneath that mask, and he latched on to it. Meanwhile, Chris took hold of Ezra's shoulders and spun him around. Josiah raised a hand to stop him, but was stilled by Buck shaking his head. Gently, Chris took each of Ezra's wrists and snapped the shackles on. All the while, bright green eyes remained focused on the healer, his friend, begging him to say whatever it was that was gripping him.

Nathan rocked backwards, loosing his grip on the chair, and looked away. Ezra dropped his eyes, and sighed. 

"Fine," he muttered, his voice low. With a short laugh, he looked up again to glare at the lawmen, and sneered as he looked at Vin. "It wouldn't be the first time a man was accused of something he didn't do, eh, Mr. Tanner?" Vin looked away, and pursed his lips in irritation. Josiah gripped his hands into fists, clearly wanting to stop them but not sure how.

"C'mon, Ezra," Chris said, placing his hand on Ezra's shoulder to lead him out.

"No, wait!" Nathan's voice broke, and, when the others looked at him, they could see he was shaking slightly despite the heat in the room. He swallowed harshly, his face drawn.

"She did have the knife. He must've given to her, 'cause…'cause I saw it in her room."

The despair at betrayal in BB's expression was thick, her lips pressed in a thin line. For his part, Ezra's eyes looked up to the ceiling, thanking the powers that be.

"Doesn't change anything, Nathan," Chris said slowly, ignoring the stiffening of Ezra's shoulder beneath his hand. 

"Chris?" Josiah begged plaintively. Chris shook his head at him and looked back at Nathan.

"You told us yourself, Nathan, that Mrs. Weller was distraught. She may have simply forgotten that Ezra visited her. Besides, she was asleep when Charlie was killed. The sleeping powder, remember? You said you saw her drink it. Said she would of been out cold."

Nathan frowned, and a bead of sweat trailed down the side of his face. He stepped away again from the chair and the fire, wiped the heat from his face, but didn't speak again. He could feel all their eyes drilling into him as he considered his options, all except Ezra's. Those he knew were still looking away, probably believing that Nathan would betray him. 

"Keep moving, Ez," Chris said, gently pushing the gambler to the door.

"Chris!" The healer hissed abruptly, "I lied."

"Nathan?" JD's shocked cry and hurt expression spoke for all them, though the others had the presence of mind to hide it. Josiah, however, couldn't resist a small sigh of relief, and Ezra's shoulders fell a little. Chris didn't take his eyes off the healer.

"Lied?' he prompted, his expression neutral.

"I said I saw her drink it. I didn't."

"Nathan?" BB asked, her hands gripping at her skirt. Nathan tried not to hear her anguish as he locked stares with Chris.

"I mixed her drink, just as I said, and left a couple extra packets of powder should she wake up in the night unable to get back to sleep. But I never saw her actually drink it."

"And?" Chris said, not hiding the fact that he was baiting the healer now. His face was so cool and his voice so heavy in implication, that Nathan could only shut his eyes in defeat. It was clear that Chris already knew what was coming, probably figured it out by talking to Silace, but he still needed Nathan to say it out loud. When the healer spoke again, his voice was dull.

"And when I looked at Charlie's body, I noted that he was still bleeding, despite being dead for a while. The blood was draining too slow, and it was thin where it collected on the carpet, as opposed to black and thick as would have been normal. It could only mean that he'd had some kind of barbiturate in his system – the sleeping powder. Enough mixed with the whiskey I saw on the coffee table, it would have killed him."

BB's angry shriek made them all jump, and they all turned to look at her. But she only had eyes for Nathan, the accusation in them clear.

"How was I supposed to know that?" she cried suddenly, explosively. "I just wanted him to sleep, so that he wouldn't hit me again, and so I could get away." She was crying freely now, her shoulders heaving as her breathing grew increasingly ragged. Lacey was by her side in seconds, trying to take one of the girl's hands where they gripped the arms of the chair.

Nathan watched her crumble, his own eyes filling with tears. "It really was you? God, I was so hoping…"

"It was an accident, Nathan, you must believe me!"

"But I warned you not to mix it with alcohol," he whispered.

"I didn't think you meant it would be fatal….I just thought it would just make him sleep longer. Please, how was I supposed to know?" She reached for him, but Nathan stepped away. Lacey shut her eyes.

"So why'd you stab him?" Vin asked.

BB stood, shaking off Lacey and wiping furiously at her face with her hands to get rid of the tears. When she looked up again, she was still looking at the healer. "I had to cover it up, Nathan, don't you see? He was already dead, and I didn't want to hang. If people thought he'd died by stabbing, well then, I couldn't possibly have done it…."

"Boston, if it was an accident, like you said, we would of believed you," Nathan tried to reason with her.

BB just stared at him, mouth agape. "A black woman?" Her voice filled with rage at his ignorance, "You think what I say means anything? Even you would have been hard pressed, Nathan, to accept my explanation. The wrong color," she waved at the white men in the room, "and the wrong sex, remember?"

"Boston…."

"My name is BB, Nathan! BB Weller. Boston Bound is dead…. She died over ten years ago in the war. BB is all that is left."

Nathan couldn't bear it anymore. He backed to the door, his eyes filling with unshed tears, then turned and bolted out the doors. Josiah took a couple of steps in the same direction, but Vin placed a hand on his arm.

"Give him a few minutes," the tracker whispered.

Chris, meanwhile, unshackled Ezra, who in turn rubbed his wrists tiredly. The gunslinger looked to Mrs. Weller.

"Are you ready to tell us what happened now?" Chris asked quietly.

With Nathan's departure, BB's tears slackened, and she collapsed back down into the chair. When she gathered the will to look up at the man in black, her eyes were dead.

"I never drank the potion. I needed to think," she began dully. "At some point, I went over to the window in that ante room, thinking I wanted fresh air. Had I known what I would hear…" She trailed off, and looked over at the Weathers, who still sat on the divan. BB's eyes found Sarah, then looked away. 

"With my window open, I could easily hear Charlie talking to someone in the building opposite. I looked out and saw the open window on the third floor, practically facing me. I heard everything…how Charlie got his money, how he still loved Sarah, what he did to Mr. Standish's boat, everything." She paused, and brought a hand to her head. Lacey had long since returned to her own chair, and was watching the fire, no longer wanting to listen.

BB took a deep breath and sniffed. "When Mr. Standish brought Charlie back, I was in the bedroom, waiting. I'd poured all the extra powder Nathan had given me into a glass of whiskey. Charlie stayed out in the ante room after Mr. Standish left, staring at the fire. When I walked out, he jumped, but didn't seem angry. I offered him the drink and told him to sit in front of the fire, promising him that everything would be better in the morning. My plan was to leave as soon as he was asleep and go to Nathan's to hide. Charlie fell asleep almost instantly. It wasn't until I tried to get him to move to the bed half an hour later that I realized I'd killed him." She sniffed again, and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her brown dress. 

"I don't know. Maybe Nathan's right. I did know that I wasn't supposed to mix the powder with alcohol…maybe, subconsciously, I wanted him dead," she said sadly. "In any case, when I figured out that I'd killed him, all I could think about was that I had to cover it up. The knife Mr. Standish had given me was still on the mantle over the fireplace…." She shook slightly, remembering how she had only meant to slit his throat, but a sudden rage had overtaken her, and she had stabbed him over and over again. "Like a madwoman," she whispered out loud.

"Why'd you wait two hours before screaming?" Chris asked.

BB shrugged. "Nathan said the potion he gave me would only last a few hours. I had to pretend that I had drunk it and had been sleeping when Charlie was killed. Worked, didn't it." She buried her face in her hands. "Almost. Oh, Nathan," she moaned to the absent healer. "Nathan, I'm so sorry."

Chris exhaled slowly and placed the shackles in JD's hands. "Take her to the jail. Make sure she's comfortable."

"You want me to use these?" the kid asked, shaking the shackles. Chris shook his head.

"Not necessary." 

JD nodded and went over to BB. Gently, he helped her to her feet and walked her out the door. Buck followed closely, planning on providing support. 

"The rest of you may go now and get some sleep. Mr. and Mrs. Milton, Mr. and Mrs. Street, you are not required to stay unless you want to. The stage will be able to leave tomorrow." Chris said, watching the couples. They looked at each other, but didn't answer. With a sigh, Wallace took his wife's hand and led the way out of the room. The Streets followed. 

Carl and Sarah, meanwhile, had gone up to Ezra, who was standing off by himself again. Upon reaching him, Carl offered the gambler his hand. Ezra stared at it a moment, then accepted it, shaking it firmly. Sarah smiled.

"I knew you were innocent," she said. Ezra nodded.

"So did I," he quipped. 

The Weathers then left as well, leaving only the four peacekeepers. Together the four men walked outside and stood in the cold air outside the hotel, each turning unconsciously to look over at the jail. Nathan sat on the bench outside, his coat pulled tight around him. With a nod to the others, Josiah strode away to sit with his friend. 

"You used me, Mr. Larabee," Ezra said quietly, his menacing tone not lost on the gunslinger.

"Had to Ezra, turned out to be the only way," Chris replied evenly. He barely glanced at the irritated face of the man next to him, more intent was he on Nathan's crushed appearance. Vin, on the other hand, could see Ezra's face, and wisely took a step back.

"Well, then, you must consider yourself to be quite clever. You out-conned the con man. Well done. For a moment there, you actually had me believing that you did not trust me – not a long stretch I grant you." The sarcasm was heavy in his tone.

The gunslinger gritted his teeth. "Frankly, Ezra, I could care less what you think about me right now. I'm more concerned with the well being of the more innocent member of this affair than you. Don't forget I know that you planned to extort money from Weller. I could lock you up for that alone."

Ezra's eyes flashed. "You wouldn't," he hissed.

"No, I wouldn't. But if you ever pull a stunt like that again…" Chris let the statement go unfinished, his glare quickly expressing his intent well enough. In some ways, the stand off reminded Vin of that moment at the Seminole Village, after Ezra'd run off. For a moment, neither man spoke, just stared at each other, then Ezra lowered his eyes in acknowledgement before walking away in the direction of the saloon. Chris sighed, and slumped his shoulders.

"Bit harsh on him, don't you think?" Vin asked. Chris fixed a black eyed stare on the tracker.

"He's gotta learn, Vin."

"He already has, Chris. He didn't go through with it." He shook his head. "Personally, I think he's been through enough today without you rubbing it in."

Chris looked over at the jail, then at the saloon, then back at Vin. Then he sighed again. 

"Ezra!" he shouted at the departing figure. The gambler stopped, and turned.

"Mr. Larabee?"

Chris strode across the muddy road until he stood before the younger man, Vin right behind him.

"Would you feel better if I told you I never thought you did it?"

Ezra's eyes narrowed, and he shrugged. "Maybe. Why not?"  


Chris smirked, "Are you kidding? All that blood? I know you care far too much for your clothes to kill someone in such a…messy fashion." The mocking tone was clear, but, instead of reacting negatively, Ezra relaxed, and even smiled.

"Buy you a drink, Chris?" he asked.

________________________________

The Judge arrived a few days later, and the trial of BB Weller had the whole town crushing into the saloon to watch. She was convicted of manslaughter, and sentenced to ten years at Yuma Prison. Most thought it a fair judgement, and the town wandered away content. 

The Miltons and the Streets continued on to their ranch, mainly because they didn't know what else to do. A fresh start was all they could hang on to after this. As they left, Lacey and Annabel told BB that they would be waiting for her when she got out. She would always have a home with them. BB had hugged the two women close for several minutes before letting them go. They left just as the prison coach rolled into town.

All seven lawmen were on the boardwalk as BB waited for the prison coach. She'd apologized to Ezra and he'd accepted it, though only because of Nathan. Indeed, the only reason he was there to see her off at all was because he wanted to support the healer. Nonetheless, Ezra stood near the back of the group, his hat low on his face. 

Vin stood next to the gambler, as close as he could get without touching the man. He hadn't left Ezra's side all week – the only way he knew to show Ezra that he was sorry for not trusting him from the start. The gambler had responded by good-naturedly winning all of Vin's money away in a series of poker games. Buck, meanwhile, had apologized for his part in the con by buying Ezra a new book – a French picture book. Ezra had promptly turned around and given it to Inez, telling her it was a gift to her from Buck. Watching the ladies man sprinting out of the saloon with an extremely irate Senorita chasing him with a broom had been recompense enough. Chris, of course, hadn't apologized for his role, but then, that was to be expected.

BB watched the black wagon approach, her eyes frozen on the macabre looking U.S. Marshal guiding it down the street. Nathan stood by her side, his hands behind his back. As it pulled to a stop, the Marshal jumped down and scanned the crowd of people. When his eyes alit on Chris Larabee, he stepped forward to get his instructions from this obvious leader.

BB turned to Nathan, and placed her hands on his arm. When he looked down at her, she smiled and drew her hands away and brought them up to her neck. In moments, she had untied the red ribbon and locket, revealing the slightly paler skin beneath. 

"Could you keep this safe for me?" she asked, still smiling. "I know that we may no longer, ever, be able to be together, but I still want you to hold on to it." Reaching out, she pulled his arm out and opened his hand, palm up. Slowly, she loosed the ribbon into his hand, the gold of the locket glinting in the sun. 

"I would be honored, BB," Nathan replied, his voice shaking slightly. 

"You can…call me Boston, if you like."

Nathan nodded, and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek, to which she responded by throwing her arms around his neck in a tight hug. 

"You keep yourself safe, Boston Bound," Nathan said into her ear, gripping her tight.

"You too, Nathan," she replied. "I want that locket back in one piece," she laughed. 

Behind her, the Marshal cleared his throat, indicating it was time to leave. Slowly, BB let go of Nathan, and backed away. Chris had already told the Marshal that shackles were not necessary, so BB was helped up into the coach without suffering the indignity of being fettered. The whole time, she bit her lip, trying not to cry, and even smiled as the coach moved off. She waved once, then disappeared inside the carriage.

The others drifted to the side as Nathan turned and stepped up onto the boardwalk. He was looking at the locket in his hand, looking for the clasp that would open it. After a minute, he looked up, seeking out the gambler.

"Ez, can you open this?" he asked. Ezra smiled, and stepped forward. Looking closely at the locket, he reached forward and easily pressed the hidden latch, instantly popping it open on Nathan's palm. A tiny folded piece of cloth paper fell out, and the healer gently opened the delicate fabric. The other gathered tightly around him.

JD leaned forward and grinned, instantly recognizing the picture. "That's the State House in Boston," he said, "standing high over the Common. Pretty, isn't it?" 

Nathan nodded and turned it over. On the back, words had been burnt into the cloth. Frowning, he realized he couldn't read them because they weren't in English. He looked at Ezra, who tilted his head to read it.

"Libertas omnibus rebus favorablilior est," Ezra recited, then looked up. "Liberty is more favored than all things…" he translated.

"Or Freedom over all," Josiah rephrased, placing a hand on Nathan's shoulder. The healer nodded, and refolded the paper inside the locket. Drawing it close to his chest, he looked at his friends. 

"Thank you," he said huskily, before turning and walking away.

"Ironic," Ezra noted, settling himself against a convenient post to watch Nathan walk away. "Boston Bound spent her life trying to find freedom, and ended up in prison." 

"No, son, it is not ironic. BB Weller is where she is because of her own actions. Choice is the essence of freedom, even if the choices we make are the wrong ones," Josiah replied, draping an arm across Ezra's shoulders. The gambler immediately ducked out the embrace and backed off, a dimpled smile of warning on his face. Josiah pretended not to notice the brush off.

"Hey!" JD called excitedly, holding his hand out from beneath the porch roof. The others looked, and both Vin and Chris couldn't suppress a groan. The kid grinned at them, and stepped out into the street to look up, his arms open wide, his brown eyes bright.

"It's snowing again!" 

End


End file.
